


Along Came A Spider

by Toastiel



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-10 15:00:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 38,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5590621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toastiel/pseuds/Toastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a dishonorable discharge, Aria Lestrade returns to London hoping to find some way of putting her life back together. Despite the company she keeps, normal life is dull and overrated. Things are going great until a spider falls into her life and turns her world on its axis. At least its not boring anymore, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Sherlock fic and any feedback is much appreciated.  
> This story will contain dark themes including but not limited to: murder, physical and mental abuse, torture, and adult themes. It also includes slash. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, turn back now. Continue at your own discretion.  
> Many thanks to Tabitha for being an amazing friend and beta.

_Little Miss Muffet_

_Innocence she did covet_

_As she washed all the blood away._

_Along came a Spider_

_He stood there behind her_

_And asked if she wanted to play._

_So she took his hand_

_Not knowing she'd be damned_

_The moment she wandered astray._

_For the Spider she fell_

_She was under his spell_

_For a brief instant her world seemed okay._

_Until she found his heart frozen_

_Despite her devotion_

_And found she could no longer stay._

_She then felt his bite_

_And she struggled to fight_

_The Spider she did try to slay._

_But the Spider felt blighted_

_And thus he decided_

_Miss Muffet would now become prey._

**X-X-X-X-X**

Aria had never intended to join the military. Initially she had planned to study ballet. Her dreams as a dancer were quickly laid to rest however when she discovered her utter lack of coordination at the age of six. She had been taking lessons and was happily practicing her movements when she tripped over nothing and ended up in the hospital with a mild concussion. She then decided that she wanted to be an astronaut, only to find that she was deathly afraid of confined spaces.

Again and again she changed her mind. As the years went on she had wanted to be a veterinarian, or a lawyer, or a photographer. She had briefly entertained the idea of becoming a jewel thief, but her father had given her a very stern and somewhat concerned look that told her it would be a bad decision to follow.

Her mother had been somewhat less enduring of her constant indecision. Every time she announced a new career path her mother would roll her eyes and sigh. By the time she was seventeen and ready to graduate her mother had finally has enough. The row that followed had been epic. Her mother had called her foolish and lazy, snapping at her that it was time to grow up, to take responsibility and make a decision. In her anger, and knowing that it would make her mother that much more upset with her, she had joined the army. She had never expected to be good at it.

Within her first year she had risen to the rank of Second Lieutenant. Another year and she had made Captain. As her second year in the service drew to a close she was approached by several men in suits that looked completely out of place in the deserts of the Middle East. They were there to recruit her for a special task force based entirely on her scores in training and her quick promotion since.

She would be given another promotion, this time to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel, an exorbitant raise in pay, and a quick reassignment. Somehow they had known of the tension between the Captain and several of her fellow women-in-arms. She had been quick to take the offer, especially once they had informed her that doing so would not add any time onto her required four years of enlistment.

Now, as she sat in the back seat of a black London taxi she wished she had taken more time to consider her options. She had almost made it to her eight year mark, she thought wistfully. She had done so well so quickly; she should have known something would have gone wrong. It had gone horribly wrong, too. Her time in the service had changed her; had made her into a hard husk of the person she had been. She didn't need anyone to tell her this. She saw it every morning when she looked in the mirror. Eventually, she had stopped looking.

Her eyes, once a bright inquisitive hazel, had dulled into muddy, lifeless brown orbs. Her short, shaggy auburn hair had long ago lost its shine, and her pale skin now appeared sallow and sickly. She had lost weight over the past three months, and while she normally would have been thrilled with the idea, she knew it wasn't healthy. Standing at 5'8," a healthy weight would have been around eleven stone. She had always been a healthy individual and was used to being a bit on the heavier side of this, but now she barely came in at eight and a half stone, and even then her skin felt tight against her muscles. Her clothes, a nondescript pair of jeans and an old t-shirt of her father's, hung from her frame like ill-fitted sacks, and her jacket could easily have fit another person comfortably inside.

'At least most of the bruises are gone,' she thought sourly. She knew her father would have a good deal to say, and more questions than she had answers. She also knew that she would have to lie about all of it. Every mark, every scar, every aching joint had a story that only she would ever know.

At 25 years old, she had seen and done more than most people twice her age. She had held witness to the good and bad of humanity and at any given moment could fit easily with either side. Some days she feared that she wasn't entirely human anymore. Other days, she wished desperately that she wasn't. Maybe then things would have been easier.

The taxi pulled to a stop in front of the entrance to New Scotland Yard. She stared for a moment as people moved fluidly in and out of the building, going about their day as if everything in the world was exactly as it should be. For most of them, it probably was. She paid the cabbie, grabbed her rucksack, and exited the car. She watched as the black car pulled off and sped away down the street.

She'd have gone straight home, except she no longer knew where home was. Her parents had separated over a year ago, and her father had moved into a flat closer to work. Aria knew she would never again be welcomed by her mother, and she didn't think she had it in her to face the woman's looks of contempt and disappointment so soon.

Her only remaining option was to seek out her father and pray that he would still love her enough to put her up until she could manage on her own. Gathering what little courage she still possessed, she entered the building and made her way towards the lift. She hesitantly pushed the button for the sixth floor, feeling her stomach drop away as the lift rose. The doors opened with a soft 'ping' and she exited into the Homicide and Serious Crime Command department. It had been almost a decade since her last visit to The Yard, but she couldn't remember it making her skin crawls as it was now. It made her nervous.

She made her way towards the far left of the offices quickly locating the one she was looking for. The door was closed, but the shades were open. Beyond the windows she could see three people, two men and a woman. They appeared to be having a rather heated discussion, but she couldn't make out what they were saying from outside. She took up post next to the door leaning against a clear expanse of wall next to a copy machine to wait.

Luckily she didn't have to wait long as the door was wrenched open, and slammed against the interior wall with enough force for Aria to feel it from her side. The woman that exited was well-dressed in charcoal trousers, a silver blouse and black heels. Her hair was a mass of brown curls and her skin was the color of creamed coffee. Her chocolate eyes sparked with anger.

She was followed by a tall, pale skinned man with lanky black hair dressed in navy trousers, a light blue button-down and a black blazer. His pale blue eyes were filled with resignation rather than anger. Once the doorway was clear she leaned around and poked her head into the office. Her smile was forced and her wave was half-hearted. It took the man standing behind the desk a moment to register that she was there, and for a second she feared he would yell at her.

"Aria?" His voice was a comfort to her. She had been in England for three days now, but she hadn't felt at home until he spoke her name. Without a word she entered his office, tossed her rucksack onto a chair and fell into his arms. She felt the tears fall, though she promised herself she wouldn't cry. His arms wrapped around her holding her against him. Her body shook with silent sobs as she squeezed him tighter in her grip. It had been seven long years since she had seen him, but it instantly felt as though she had only just left.

That was the thing about her father. No matter what she did, no matter where she went or how long she was away, she knew that he would always be there for her. She knew he would always support her, even when supporting her upset him or hurt him. He did what was best for her, even if it wasn't best for him. Suddenly she felt foolish for thinking this man could ever stop loving her.

"What's the matter, love?" He asked as he rubbed soothing circles on her back. With a deep breath she pushed away from him, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. He handed her a tissue from the box on his desk and ushered her over to one of the chairs in front of his desk. She sniffled for a moment as she tried to get her breathing under control.

He yelled for someone to bring him a cup of water and a moment later the woman from before appeared in the doorway holding a small paper cup. She looked between the two of them, curious but unwilling to say anything. Taking the cup, he closed the door and pulled the shades, effectively blocking out the rest of the world.

"Aria, sweetheart, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong." He sat on the edge of his desk, watching her with eyes full of worry.

"I-I got discharged. They st-stripped me of rank and shipped me back. I can't go home. I can't face her, Dad. You know how she is; she'll never let me live it down." Shame caused her cheeks to flush. She was a failure in every sense of the word, but she knew he would never tell her as much.

"Yeah," he scoffed. He knew exactly what her mother could be like. "I've got an extra room. It's yours if you want it for however long you like."

She hadn't even needed to ask. He just knew what she needed and was ready and willing to provide it. He was everything a parent should be and more. She didn't even feel remorseful for thinking that she would have been perfectly fine had she been raised solely by him. Her mother was less than useless in her life. She had only ever caused her grief. She had been absent for a large portion of Aria's life, choosing her career over her family. This was followed by a string of affairs that she wasn't meant to know about.

Aria couldn't understand how her mother could cheat on her father so easily. Her father loved his family, and she knew that he was tormented at having to spend so much time away from them with his job. He made every moment he had with them count. He was never sour, or angry, or brusque. He was firm when it was necessary, but he would always follow it with a smile and a hug, or a treat, or a trip to the park. He was never cross when it wasn't deserved. Aria also could never understand how her father could continue to turn a blind eye to her mother's adulterous ways. Sure, he had been madly in love with her, but had it really been worth the pain and constant betrayal? She had been thrilled to learn of their separation and subsequent divorce. He had finally decided that his happiness mattered, too.

"Thanks, Dad." She forced another smile as she hugged him again, her cheek pressed to his sternum and his strong, steady heartbeat in her ear.


	2. First Night

She had taken the next hour to calm down and gather her thoughts. The easy part was over. She knew he would have plenty to ask her, but she also knew that he was patient enough to wait until she was ready to talk about it. Problem was Aria wasn't sure she would ever be ready. The events that had led to her dishonorable discharge had been nothing short of an exercise in the depravity of the human soul. She had been forced to endure more in the past two months than she had in the past eight years. She had survived only because she refused to give them the satisfaction of breaking her. She had held strong because it was the only thing she had control over.

Her fight was over now. That's what they had told her when they had released her. They had made it seem as though she would be able to seamlessly assimilate into normal life. She knew that would never happen. She was likely suffering some type of Post-Traumatic Stress, but she couldn't find it within herself to care too much. Caring was what had gotten her into this mess.

She liked to think that, if he knew what had really happened, her father would be proud of her. Knowing this made it a bit easier to deal with the guilt that flooded through her like a poison. People were dead and it was entirely her fault. Innocent people were dead. She had broken the rules and now there was innocent blood on her hands. If she looked hard enough she could actually see it staining her flesh a nauseating scarlet. Her emotions were torn between overwhelming remorse and suffocating rage.

A warm hand on her shoulder brought her from her thoughts. She looked up meeting her father's warm brown eyes and a smile full of love.

"Ready?"

"Yep." She shouldered her rucksack and followed him to the lift. They exited the building together and made their way down the street. His flat was in Mayfair, but he refused to hail a taxi. He opened the door a police car for her before climbing into the driver's seat and easing into traffic. The sky had grown dark and heavy rain clouds threatened to open up on the city below. A warm breeze heralded the oncoming storm. She couldn't fight the shiver that ran through her body. England was so cold compared to the Middle East. She had missed it, but now she simply couldn't get warm.

They had been riding in silence, the din of the city surrounding them. She was a bit startled when the car stopped. They were parked in front of a tan building with a dark entry door and cast iron railings on the stairs. She slowly pulled herself from the car and moved around to meet him on the stoop.

"Here we are. Home sweet home." He pulled out a key and opened the front door. His flat was on the first floor, with two other flats above it on the second and third floors. He unlocked a door marked 85A and held it open for her to enter ahead of him. He dropped his keys in a dish by the door and flicked on a light switch. He hung his suit coat on a rack in the entryway and reached for hers to do the same. She dropped her bag on the floor as she looked around.

It was a nice, if somewhat modest flat. The entryway headed a short hallway that led into a parlor. An open entryway on the right side of the hallway led to the kitchen furnished with a full sized stainless steel refrigerator, a generous granite worktop, a stainless steel gas range and a double sink. A table sat in the middle of the space with seating for four and two extra chairs pushed against the far wall out of the way. The floor was covered with a dark slate tile and the walls had been painted a soft charcoal. It had a very modern feel that suited her father well.

On the opposite side of the hallway were two more doors of the same dark wood. The first led to her father's room. Again, it was very modern with dark wooden floors that flowed throughout the flat and charcoal walls. It was furnished with a dark oak bedroom suite. The bed was against the same wall as the door with a nightstand on either side. The chest of drawers was placed in the alcove between the bathroom and the closet.

A pocket door across from the bed led to a modest closet while another on the right hand wall led to a bathroom. The bed was made-up with dark blue sheets, grey pillows, and a black duvet. She smiled. She had ordered the linens for him as an early birthday present when she had received news that he would be living on his own.

The other door led to what would become her bedroom. The floors and walls were the same dark wood and charcoal. A double bed was on the left wall with nightstands on either side, and a long dresser was against the right wall, all made of cherry wood. The linens on the bed were lighter, with soft cream sheets, sand colored pillows and a soft blue duvet. The closet was the same as the other bedroom, though a bit smaller and a pocket door by the bed led to a private bathroom.

She ended at the parlor noting that the modern theme had carried through. The mantel above the fireplace was granite atop dark oak. The grate was made of dark metal and the floor surrounding it was tiled with the same slate as the kitchen. Two leather armchairs faced the fireplace with a small glass-topped table between them. A black leather sofa sat in the middle of the room, facing towards the kitchen with a glass-topped coffee table before it. Ahead of it a large plasma television was mounted to the wall. In the corner of the parlor where a desk and a worn desk chair.

On either side of the fireplace were floor to ceiling book cases, their shelves filled with books, DVDs and CDs. On the mantel were various pictures. Most were of her, or the both of them, but one stood out. The frame was silver and simple. The picture was of her father and another man with dark ginger hair and piercing blue eyes. It was fairly recent considering her father's greying hair, and it appeared as though neither man had been aware that it was being taken.

"Who's this?" Aria asked, pointing to the other man. "He your boyfriend or something?"

She hadn't expected her father to blush. It was more than enough confirmation for her. She nodded before bumping her shoulder against his.

"When do I get to meet him?"

"Soon enough. He was going to stop by after work, but I called him from the office and told him to piss off for a few days that I was having a woman over."

"Yeah? How'd he take that?"

"The way he takes everything: seriously. He's got a very dry sense of humor and he's sarcastic as hell, but I think – well, I hope – that you'll like him. You might even get along with him."

"Good to know. Look, I'm kind of knackered, so…" she trailed off as she gestured towards her new room.

"Alright. Get some rest, love. I've got some work to do. There's leftover takeaway in the fridge if you're hungry." His look told her that it was more than a kind suggestion. She gave him a brief hug and a peck on the cheek before retrieving her bag. She grabbed a bottle of water and what smelled like Szechwan Beef before locking herself in her room. She stripped quickly and headed for the bathroom. It had been ages since she had experienced the luxury of a hot bath.

She reemerged an hour later with a fluffy grey towel wrapped around her. Droplets of water fell from her hair and her skin was tinged pink both from the heat of the water and the excessively harsh scrubbing she had done. No matter what she did, how hard she scrubbed, she still didn't feel clean.

'I doubt I ever will,' she thought as she pulled out some clean underwear and slipped them on. She pulled a worn pair of grey shorts and a black vest from her bag and quickly dressed for bed before scarfing down the cold beef and vegetables. She had little appetite but she knew better than to argue with her father when he gave her that look. She made a quick trip to the kitchen to dispose of the empty carton.

"Night, Dad." She called as she opened her door. He was at his desk, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his shoes kicked off underneath. He turned to smile at her bidding her goodnight and sweet dreams before returning to his paperwork. As she closed the bedroom door, Aria sighed heavily. It was going to take a lot of work to find some semblance of normality again, but she knew that with her father by her side she stood a chance of at least getting close. Aria shut off the light and crawled into bed sinking into the soft mattress. Within minutes she had fallen into a deep sleep.

X-X-X-X-X

Aria jolted awake at the feeling of someone grabbing her shoulder. Still unaware of where she was she wasted no time in ripping the hand from her shoulder, springing from the bed and knocking her attacker to the floor. It wasn't until she had the larger figure pinned beneath her and lying face down on the ground with his arm bent back at a painful angle that she remembered the previous day.

"Oh god," She cried as she scrambled to her feel. "I'm so sorry. Are you alright? I didn't break you did I?"

Her father looked slightly dazed as she helped him to his feet. He shook his head, though she wasn't sure if he was merely trying to regain his focus or telling her she hadn't caused any damage. He looked at her for a moment his eyes darkened with concern and a hint of shock. The next moment he was chuckling and dusting off his green and blue flannel pajama pants. His feet and chest were bare and his hair was ruffled. A red mark on his cheek told her that he had been asleep only moments before.

"You were screaming. I called your name, but I couldn't wake you."

"Screaming?"

"Mm. It sounded pretty bad."

"That's because it was."

"You know you can talk to me, right? I might not understand it all, but I'm here for you."

"I know. You've always been willing to listen. It one of the many traits that makes you possibly the most amazing parent in the world."

"You do know flattery won't make this go away, right?"

She shrugged noncommittally. Truth be told, she had been trying to distract him and he had called her on it.

"You want to talk about it?" He asked again.

"No."

"You want a drink?" He smiled, already knowing the answer.

"Hell yes." She said, following him into the parlor. A fire had been lit, chasing off the chill of early spring, and casting a warm glow about the room. She took a seat in one of the armchairs and tucked her feet beneath her. Her father handed her a tumbler with two fingers of amber liquid, no ice, and draped a throw blanket over her shoulders. He took a seat in the other armchair, stretching his legs out and taking a sip from his own glass.

Aria tossed back half of the liquid in one go, relishing the burn as it traveled down her throat, and pooled in her stomach. The effects of the scotch was almost instant. She could feel it warming her blood, numbing her nerves, and dulling her sense. She finished it off in one more drink and sat the glass on the table.

"Better?"

"A bit."

"What happened?" She had to give him points for persistence.

"Still not talking about it." She threw him a look of mild annoyance tinged with humor. "But, when I am ready, you'll be the first to know."

He simply nodded and took another sip. They remained silent for quite some time before the 'ding' of his mobile broke them from their thoughts. She watched closely as he grabbed the device and read the message; her curiosity growing as his eyes lightened and a grin spread across his face. He glanced at her for a moment before typing in a reply and hitting 'send.' They resumed their silent introspection for a few more minutes before her curiosity won out, aided by the alcohol burning its way through her system.

"Who was that?"

"Myc."

"Oh," She paused. "Is that your-"

"Uh-huh."

"Oh...what did he want?"

"Nothing really. Just Myc being Myc; telling me to go to bed. I've got a meeting in a few hours and he tends to fret."

"He cares about you." She had meant it to be a question.

"In his way, yeah. He has a hard time with emotion. Sometimes he comes off as being a right prick, too, but once you get to know him, it's pretty easy to see that it's just a front. His brother's the same way."

"I'll meet him too, I'm guessing?"

"If you like. He's a bit odd, though."

"Really? You're telling me that someone is odd? Have you met your daughter?"

"Fair enough." His mobile dinged again. He sighed and shook his head as he read the message. "I'm starting to think he's got my flat bugged."

"That's…creepy."

"No, that's Myc. He's threatening to come over and drag me to bed if I don't go on my own. I'm half tempted to make him."

"Well, if that's what tickles your fancy. I'm going to bed. You and your boyfriend just try to keep it down." Aria winked as she stood up, folding the blanket and laying it over the back of the chair. She made her way back to bed though she doubted she would be getting anymore sleep. Despite the alcohol, her mind was still replaying the events of the past few months in vivid detail. Closing her eyes would only make it worse.


	3. Retail Therapy and The Baker Street Boys

Aria had been living with her father for almost a week. It had taken her that long to get used to living like a 'normal' person. Things like sleeping on a bed, eating three meals a day, and being able to take hot showers had long become commodities in her life that she could rarely afford. Now, she was standing on her mother's stoop with her hand poised to knock. She had been standing there for several minutes trying to summon up the courage to announce her presence, but had thus far been unable to do so. Just as she was about to rap her knuckles against the light cream wood, the door opened.

Before her stood her mother, looking much the same as she had the last time they had seen each other almost eight years ago. Her strawberry blonde hair was still cut in a simple bob, falling perfectly to her shoulders. Her green eyes were still as cold as ever, and her skin was still perfectly smooth. She really didn't look old enough to be the mother of a 25 year-old woman, but Aria remembered that her 44th birthday had been less than a month ago.

"Hi." Aria stood tall, refusing to look away despite how strongly she wanted to. The older woman adjusted the black leather purse that hung from her shoulder and crossed her slender arms across her chest.

"I was wondering when you would show up. Come crawling back looking for a free room I'm guessing?" Her voice was like poison ice and it made Aria feel ill.

"No. I'm actually living with Dad at the moment. I just came by to get my things. I can just grab them and go if you-"

"I don't have anything of yours."

"But-what about my clothes, my books…all the stuff that was in my room?"

"It was rubbish so I tossed it."

"You- you binned all of my things?" Aria was getting angry now. What gave this woman the right to throw all of her belongings away like that?

"Your father took the books, the DVDs and the CDs, but everything else was put out with the rest of the garbage. I'm running late for work, so please leave. If I catch you here again I'm calling the police." She pulled the door closed, locking it as she went, and brushed past Aria with her nose in the air and a look of disgust on her face.

"Fine. If that's the way you want to be, so be it. You will never have to suffer through seeing me ever again." She glared at the woman's retreating form before walking back to her motorbike and putting her helmet on. She had been smart about that at least. She had left her bike with her father knowing he would take care of it and keep it up. It had taken her ages to decide on exactly the right one, but in the end she had chosen a new (at the time) Triumph Bonneville in all black. She had bought it just after joining the army and hadn't regretted the decision.

She started up the engine and pulled into traffic, cutting her mother off in the process. Without looking back she sped off towards the center of London. She weaved between cars, lorries, and buses with ease until she hit central London where traffic picked up and the MET had a much stronger presence. The last thing she needed was a ticket.

It took almost an hour to get through central London and back to Mayfair, but it had given her time to cool off. She was still angry, but at least she wasn't running the risk of snapping at her father for something that wasn't his fault. She pulled her bike into its usual space in front of her father's car. She sat there for a moment, allowing the last of her anger to disperse before climbing off and heading inside. She dropped her keys in the dish by the door, hung her jacket on its peg and headed into the parlor. Her father was sprawled out along the sofa still in his pajamas, watching some sports game she didn't care about and sipping a beer.

"How'd it go?" He asked as he lowered the volume on the TV.

"Oh, just swell. I didn't kill her, so I guess that's a positive." She made her way into her room leaving her door open. She toed off her boots and sat them against the wall beside her trainers and her sandals, pulling her tee over her head and slipping on her favorite black vest. She went back out into the parlor, smirking at her father as he tossed her a beer. She nudged his feet off the sofa and sat down with a huff only to have his feet in her lap a second later. In a moment of childishness, she stuck her tongue out at him and popped the top of her bottle.

They sat in silence for a long while, simply enjoying the quiet of a lazy Saturday afternoon. Aria allowed her mind to wander until something hit her on the cheek. She shook her head and looked around. Her father hadn't moved his attention still firmly set on the TV. She was about to brush it off when another something caught the side of her nose. She glanced to her left in time to catch the smile on his face as he picked up another piece of popcorn.

Aria pretended to watch the TV, but snatched the next projectile from the air and flicked it back at him, hitting him in the forehead. Five minutes later, they were both sat on the sofa amidst a mess of scattered popcorn, their cheeks and chests sore from laughing and out of breath from the short, but furious battle. As they both calmed down, he settled his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him in a sort of hug.

"How bad was it, really?"

"She binned it all. My clothes, my furniture…even my bears."

"Aria, I'm so sorry sweetheart. I should have gone back for it all as soon as I got settled here."

"Don't apologize, Dad. It isn't your fault. Don't apologize for her, either. You've done more than enough of that."

"Wanna go shopping?" She knew he was trying to cheer her up. Her father hated shopping; only doing what was necessary. If he was offering to take her it meant that he knew just how upset she was.

"We don't have to. I know it isn't your favorite daddy-daughter activity."

"You need more than one pair of jeans and a few shirts, love."

"Yeah, but you hate shopping, especially for clothes."

"That's true, but I love spending time with my little girl. I hate seeing you so upset and I know for a fact that shopping always cheers you up. So," he pushed her off of the sofa and onto the floor, "get dressed."

Aria rolled her eyes as she stood up. She grabbed one of the accent pillows that had fallen to the floor during their skirmish and lobbed it at his face as she headed to her room to slip on her boots and change into a clean shirt. She chose one of her favorites, a worn and faded black tee with the logo of some long-dead indie band from the 70s. Her father had bought it when he was in university and she had nicked it from his closet just before she had left for training. She had wanted something of him to keep close to her in case things got rough.

When she walked back into the living room she saw that the mess had been cleaned up and her father was now wearing dark-wash jeans, a dark blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows over a white tee with a large Chelsea F.C. logo on the front, and a pair of black Doc Marten boots.

"There's the Greg Lestrade I know." She joked as she bumped his elbow with her own. "I never have been used to seeing you all dressed up, suit and ties and all that. This is much more my dad."

"Yeah, but I can't exactly show up to a crime scene dressed like this, now can I? Got to look professional and all that." He grabbed a leather jacket off a hook by the door and grabbed his keys. Aria grabbed her jacket and followed him out, locking the door behind her and following him to the car. "Where to, love?"

Aria thought for a moment. "There's that place you used to take me, the one that sold all of the vintage, second hand stuff. They still open?"

"I was in there a few weeks ago, so I really do hope so." He smirked. "Sounds like a good start to me."

X-X-X-X-X

They spent the next three hours browsing several second-hand shops and a few brand stores along the way. They had slowly made their way along the A41 from their home on Brook Street towards Baker Street and decided that dinner would be their next endeavor. Her father had recommended a Chinese restaurant he knew in the area and she was happy to try it. As they sat waiting on their order and sipping on their drinks, her father sighed heavily which caused her to look up. She shot him a look and he shook his head and nodded in the direction of the door.

A tall man with dark curly hair and a hawkish nose was standing in the doorway. Behind him stood a drastically shorter man with short hair that was graying but looked like it had once been a reddish brown color. Both men spotted her father at the same time and made their way over to the empty table next to them. The shorter man greeted her father with a warm smile and a handshake before taking his seat.

"John," her father said as he shook the man's hand. "Sherlock, always a pleasure."

The taller man removed his long black coat and draped it over the back of his chair before taking his seat. He looked rather bored with the whole affair and only gave a hum in greeting. His piercing blue eyes landed on Aria. She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the amount of attention he was giving her, but refused to look away. It became an unannounced staring contest between them, and it lasted for several minutes before he abruptly looked away.

"Your daughter, I presume?" His voice was a deep baritone and she was sure that it could very well be hypnotic under the right circumstances.

"You know she is." He rolled his eyes and smiled at Aria. "Wanna share with the rest of the class how you know it, Sherlock?"

"Honestly, Graham, you treat me like some cheap performer." The man replied shortly. Aria looked at her father.

"Who is Graham?" She asked, completely confused. The other man, John if she remembered correctly, was ignoring the whole scene as he gave their order to the server. He glanced at his companion for a moment before speaking.

"Stop whinging and just do it. We all know you love the attention and acting like the smartest idiot in the room."

"I am not an idiot, John. I am however the smartest in the room, but that is almost always a given regardless of the location, no offense, and I do not enjoy the attention."

"Oh please. You're like a tall, brooding peacock. You act all unassuming and mysterious until you get the chance then out come the pretty feathers. In your case, the mad ramblings that you think explain how your brain works."

"Shut up." Sherlock growled before turning his attention back to Aria. "It's not even a difficult deduction. She's clearly too young to be your date, not that you would ever date anyone other than Mycroft, still not entirely sure how that works out. She has the same eyes, and her hair is the same color. Her taste in clothing is obviously inherited from you, and she's wearing your shirt. It's much too large for her, but it's well cared for, cherished even. She positions herself in a similar manner, comfortable, leaned back in her chair. Sitting like a man.

"I'm guessing you did most of the rearing in her youth as I see very little about her that screams femininity. A mother would have insisted she poise herself as a lady, while a father would unconsciously lead by example, thus imparting more masculine traits. It's also quite apparent in the way you look at each other. You look at her like she is some sort of precious commodity that needs to be protected, while she looks at you as some sort of a hero, there to save her from the evils of the world. A father protecting his daughter, and a daughter idolizing her father. As I said, simple. Boring."

"Wow." Aria said, staring at the dark haired man. A server had arrived with their food before walking off. Aria took a moment to break apart her bamboo chopsticks and arrange everything to her liking before looking back at him. "Are you always such an arse?"

Her question caught him off guard, his self-satisfied smirk falling. Her father and John were trying not to laugh and failing miserably. "I beg your pardon?"

"No need to beg, love." She giggled as his cheeks flushed. "You rattle off all of that, thinking you've made some big discovery, telling the world something it didn't already know, and slipping in backhanded insults along the way. That's a bit of an arsehole move to me."

"You think I'm simply being arrogant? Allow me to share another deduction." His eyes flared with contempt.

"Please."

"Very well. You're ex-military, evident in your bearing and the cut of your hair. Given the way you hold yourself, I'd say you had some amount of power, a Captain most likely. Stationed in Iraq or Afghanistan no doubt, from the tan lines above the wrists only and from the neck up. You were arrested and held for some time as a prisoner. You have scars on your wrists from shackles and you've lost a good deal of weight over a short amount of time. This indicates harsh captivity, a prisoner of war perhaps, and is most likely the reason for your return to London.

"Your time on the front lines still haunts you and you suffer from nightmares and Post-Traumatic Stress. There are dark circles under your eyes, indicating a lack of sleep and the way you arranged your table setting before eating indicated an Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, but you aren't aware of it so it must be recent, a symptom of the PTSD. Your eyes themselves give a glimpse to your pain; they are distant and dark even when you try to interact positively with other people. Your smile never reaches them. You must have been through quite the ordeal."

"I was right." She said as she took a bite of her rice. When she did continue her voice was cold and mocking. "You are an arse. You're also wrong on several details. I wasn't a Captain. I was a Lieutenant Colonel. I wasn't a prisoner of war; I was a prisoner of the British government, dishonorably discharged for refusing to kill a man as he held his newborn child in his arms. The things I saw cannot haunt me, sir. The things I have done take up far too much memory to allow them to."

Aria realized too late that she had said more than she should have. No one was supposed to know what had happened. In her anger, she had forgotten the threat made against her father's life should she reveal the circumstances of her dismissal, or the details of her detainment. The small dining room had become overcrowded and she felt as though the walls were closing in upon her. She stood quickly, grabbing her jacket and all but running out the door, not hearing John's scathing remark towards Sherlock's behavior or her father calling after her with a look of shock on his face.


	4. Laying It All Out

Aria glanced at her watch as she opened the door to 85 Brook Street. It was almost two in the morning. She was almost certain her father was sitting in front of the fireplace, waiting for her to turn up. She had ignored his texts, then his calls, and eventually she had just turned her mobile off all together. She had needed time to think, to figure out what might happen. She had no way of knowing if what she had blurted out in anger had made its way to the leaders of Black Falcon, but she knew it was a possibility. They had eyes and ears everywhere.

She entered the flat quietly, hoping that he had fallen asleep and that she could slip into her room, lock the door, and save the argument for the morning. No such luck. Her father was sitting on the sofa, his face a stone mask. Aria knew that mask. It meant he was beyond anger and delving deep into rage. When her father stopped being an open book was when he became something to fear. She had only ever seen him in this state once before, and never because of her. She swallowed harshly as she stood in the hallway, afraid to move.

Beside him sat a tall, slender man with ginger hair in a black bespoke suit with a red tie and a pocket square to match. A briefcase sat on the floor against the sofa, a black umbrella against the arm. Before him, spread across the coffee table, were the contents of a thick manila folder and an open laptop. John sat on the opposite end of the sofa, his eyes a mixture of pity, sorrow, and concern. Sherlock sat in one of the armchairs, having pulled it over beside the sofa next to the ginger man. She assumed this was her father's boyfriend. It looked like the same man, at least.

"You want to start or should I?" Her father's voice was low and hard. He refused to look at her, his eyes fixed firmly on the screen of the laptop. She could only guess what was on it.

"I'm sorry I ran off. I'm sorry I ignored you. I'm sorry I'm home so late." She said in a rush, hoping that was the extent of his complaint. She looked down at her boots as she scuffed her right toe against the hardwood floor. Her eyes stung with unshed tears and her cheeks burned.

"That's not what I meant, Aria Imogen Lestrade, and you bloody well know it." He stood up and stepped past her into the kitchen. He came back a second later, one of the dining chairs in hand. He dropped it in front of the coffee table and moved aside. "Sit."

Aria couldn't move. He knew. Somehow he knew and now he wanted her to explain it all to him so he could understand. Not just to him though. She glanced at the other men. None of them spoke, though John looked as though he wanted to.

"That wasn't a request. Sit. Now." He sat back on the sofa as she moved to take the chair. She sat on the very edge of the seat, ready to bolt at any second. How had he found out? How much did he know? How much did she risk telling him?

"Start talking." He turned the laptop around to face her. On the screen was her picture, beside it her file from the Black Falcon programme. Her stats were displayed, along with her medical records and her last performance appraisal. The files scattered across the table were mission briefs, written by her with several photos clipped to each one. The only thing missing was her final mission. She took a deep breath and attempted to swallow the lump that was forming in her throat.

"I can't. Please, Dad. If I say anything, they will kill you. Then they'll kill me. I can't…"

"Miss Lestrade, I assure you, anything you say on this matter will remain within this room. Whoever has threatened you will not be made privy to any of it." The ginger man, Myc, said in a very official tone.

"How did you get all of these? Why did you get them?" She asked.

"I hold a minor position in the British government. It allows me access to quite a bit of information. The rest is unimportant."

"My files were supposed to be redacted and sealed. These are all original copies, signed in ink by my hand with hard copies of the photographs. How. Did. You. Get. Them?" Her eyes narrowed as her anger flared. Who was this man?

"As I said, it is of no importance." His gaze was hard and cold.

"Fine. Where's the final report then? Where are the documents detailing my arrest, detainment, and reprimand? My discharge files? Your source is slack, sir. They failed to give you the best parts." Aria sneered.

"Aria," She turned her attention to her father. "I asked him to look into it when I couldn't get ahold of you. I knew something had happened, but you wouldn't talk. I was worried about you. Now, I suggest you stop attacking Mycroft and start talking."

Mycroft? That was an unusual name, but it was one she had heard before. "Mycroft…Holmes?"

The man nodded shortly. Her vision ran red with rage as she stood, knocking the chair to the floor. Her jaw clenched and her hands in tight fists at her sides. The tears from before returned with a vengeance, stinging her eyes and forcing their way down her cheeks and when she spoke, her voice cracked with the effort of trying to control herself.

"Guess you didn't need the best parts. You signed off on it all, so you already knew them. No sense in bringing anything that might incriminate you, right?" Aria growled. "Is that why you're with my father? To keep an eye on me now that I'm back? To make sure I don't say anything?"

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're going on about." He said as he stood, an empty tumbler in his hand. Without a thought, Aria dove at him, landing a solid punch to his jaw and eliciting a snort of amusement from Sherlock. She would have struck him again if a pair of strong arms hadn't grabbed her around the waist. She was surprised to see it was John that had wrenched her away and was currently holding her back.

"You bastard!" She yelled at Mycroft, enjoying the sight of blood flowing from his busted lip. "How do you sleep at night? How the hell do you think that what you do is justified? Don't bother denying it. All of us knew whose signature was on our orders. We knew who really called the shots in Black Falcon. Minor position my arse. You sit in your office playing god, master puppeteer pulling the strings. You signed for my bloody arrest. Your signature was the one on the reprimand orders. Your name was on my discharge file."

Her voice had gone from angry screams to broken whispers as she crumbled to her knees. John still held her against him as she cried. Her father was watching her closely as though he feared she would go on the attack again while Sherlock appeared as though it was taking all of his self control not to laugh. She buried her face in John's jumper as she tried to regain control. A hand on her back startled her, causing her to jump. She looked up to find Mycroft kneeling beside her.

"I did create the Black Falcon programme, but I truly do not know what you are referring to. I have signed no such documents. If someone else has deigned to do so in my stead, I should like to know about it." He handed her a while silk kerchief and pulled away. He fetched another glass of scotch, but instead of drinking it, he offered it to her. "Please, my dear, tell us everything you can. Do not fear those that have threatened you. They will not get far should they try."

With John's help she rose unsteadily to her feet. She righted her chair and sat again, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself and gather her thoughts. She sat there for several minutes in silence, occasionally taking a small sip of the alcohol. She looked up and into her father's eyes as she began to speak.

"I was approached by several men about joining Black Falcon roughly five years ago. They offered me a very nice incentives package that I simply couldn't refuse. I began training with them immediately. Within six months of joining, I was on my own in the field. I was the youngest member of the team, and the only female. That meant I got all the fun jobs the boy couldn't do. I became a weapon. I was trained to use any means necessary to achieve success. Failure was never an option. Failures weren't punished, they were terminated.

"Black Falcon performed the tasks that the regular military, and even MI6, couldn't handle. We performed assassinations, drops, grabs, you name it. We had unlimited resources and government backing. Nothing was off limits to us. Over the past five years, I have completed approximately sixty-four missions. I had an exceptional success rate, outstanding performance appraisals and commendations coming out my arse.

"My final mission was to assassinate a man named Abdul Al'abbas Amari. He was a sect leader for Al Qaeda. He was a very bad man who did a lot of bad things to a lot of good people. I spent months trying to get inside his compound, but I never could. His security was airtight.

"Four months ago, his wife went into labor. The only chance I had of killing him was when he brought his newborn son out to greet the world. I had a clear shot. I had been waiting for that moment for so long, but when I saw the baby, I couldn't do it. I couldn't pull the trigger. I thought, 'What kind of person shoots a man that's holding an innocent child?'

"My superiors told me to take the shot, but I refused. I called it a failure and cleared out. I could have run. I knew what was waiting for me back a base, but I didn't. I refused to be called a coward for my actions. When I got back to base, they arrested me. The arrest warrant was signed Mycroft Holmes. They took my weapons, my clothes, and my trunk and locked me in a cell.

"They left me alone for a few days, and at first I thought, maybe this wouldn't be so bad. That's when the torture started. They were convinced I was a traitor, working for the enemy. For weeks they tortured me in every way imaginable. They starved me, beat me, whipped me, and shocked me. They did everything short of raping me, really. Eventually, they realized I wasn't going to break.

"My last day as a prisoner, they put me in a small room with a television. On the television was a live feed of Amari's complex. Security was light. Amari was doing business out of town and had taken most of his people with him. He only left a few to keep an eye on his wife, daughter and newborn son. One of the cameras was focused on the back garden where his family was enjoying a lovely afternoon.

"The next thing I know, there's a loud whistle and the screen goes white. The audio goes to shit from the blast, but the video is still live, still going. When the smoke cleared, the entire complex had been reduced to ash and rubble. Three innocent people were murdered because I refused to take one shot. One fucked up man for three innocent souls. That was my trade.

"After that, I was court martialed for refusal to follow orders and for suspected treason. They stripped me of my rank, took away everything I had worked for, and shipped me back to England to lick my wounds. Not before telling me in no uncertain terms that if anyone ever found out about what they did to me, they would be as good as dead. Now, here I am; a wretched fucked-up mess with nobody to blame but me."

The room was silent. Her father looked angry, though this time not at her. Mycroft and Sherlock both appeared impassive, but she could see the calculating looks in their eyes as though they were cataloging every detail of her story. The laces on her boots suddenly became very interesting and the world around her faded into nothing. She never heard her father stand, or move to hug her tightly. She never saw John, who hadn't left her side the entire time, crying silently with a mixture of rage and disbelief in his eyes, or Sherlock pulling him against his chest to comfort him.

Surprisingly, she felt better for having shared her story. Now she had nothing to hide. Her chest felt looser, her heart lighter, and her shoulders no longer felt as though they would break under the pressure of holding it all up.


	5. Battlescars

With her secrets aired, Aria felt better than she had in months. Sure she still felt guilt for what she had caused, but the fear was mostly gone and there was something therapeutic about sharing ones burdens with people that cared enough to help shoulder their weight. She had only just met three of those people, and her years of training kept her from fully trusting them or accepting that they actually did care, but that didn't stop it from being true.

Somehow, in the span of only a few hours she had gone from having no one in her life but her father to having a family, albeit an unusual and highly nontraditional one, surrounding and supporting her. It felt odd. She had gone her entire life with it just being her and her father. She had learned how to take care of herself, protect herself, and fight for herself, then suddenly she found she had four men she instinctively knew would willingly do all that and more. She knew she should feel lucky, blessed even, but at that moment all she felt was suffocated.

"Dad," she said quietly.

"Yeah?" He still hadn't let go of her.

"I – er – I think I need some space." She could feel her anxiety rising. Being confined in any way was always a difficult situation for her. She had only finished her tale moments before and her nerves were still a bit raw. Her pulse was beginning to quicken and her breathing was becoming labored. He pulled away looking as though he had forgotten he'd even been holding her at all, and nodded sheepishly.

"Sorry. I forgot. Why don't you go get ready for bed and I'll warm up your dinner. You didn't eat much before you ran off, so I brought it home for you." He wiped a thumb across one tear-stained cheek and pressed a kiss to her forehead before moving away completely.

Aria made to stand, but found Mycroft's hand holding her in place. She looked up at him questioningly.

"You're superior officer; his name was Marik McGaffick, yes?" She nodded. She could see a quiet rage building beneath his calm exterior and she wondered briefly what he would do to the man in question. He tipped his head, his lips tugging up at the corners for the quickest second as he pulled his hand away and moved to clear the coffee table.

Aria headed for her room, closing and locking the door behind her. She turned on the light, her eyes falling on the small mountain of bags stacked precariously on her bed. She shook her head, moving instead towards her bathroom. She took a quick shower, washing her hair and scrubbing the tears from her face. As she stepped from the shower she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror.

She was still too thin. Her skin still held a sallow pallor, and her eyes were still a muddy brown that she despised. Her body was littered with scars; long, jagged lines ran the length of her back from the whips, small burn marks were scattered all over. The only one that really bothered her though was the large scar that covered the outside of her left thigh.

Part of joining the Black Falcons was getting a tattoo of the team's symbol. The day she received her training completion certificate, several of the others had blindfolded her and dragged her off. When they pulled the cloth from her eyes she had found herself strapped to a chair in one of the back rooms of the barracks, a bright light in her face and a loud humming sound filling the air. Jackson, a tall, lanky man a few years her senior was sat beside her, a tattoo gun in hand and a smirk on his face.

"Time for your final test, doll. Now don't move, and don't you dare make a sound." She had spent the next hour in that room with the needle digging into the sensitive flesh over and over again. What surprised her most was that it hadn't hurt. Not even in the slightest. When he was finished he called out to the others to take a look as he loosened her ties. When she looked down she found a large black falcon covering her thigh, wings spread. In its beak it held the tail of a serpent and in its talons, the head.

Part of her torture had included Jackson carving the tattoo out of her thigh with a hunting knife. The look of betrayal and disgust in his eyes had hurt more than the blade ever could. Now the area was covered in a raised, discolored flesh. It hadn't healed well, and the nerves were still mending. Every time she brushed it against anything, her entire leg felt as though it had burst into flames. Keeping it from her father had been no easy feat, but now she knew she didn't have to hide it.

She moved back to her bed, sifting through the bags for something to wear. She pulled on clean underwear and then a purple sports bra, a thin white cropped vest, and a pair of black jersey shorts. She was still toweling her hair dry as she padded back into the parlor. John and Sherlock had left, but her father and Mycroft were still seated on the sofa, both having changed into pajamas. It was a bit of a strange sight, but Aria shrugged it off. She would have to get used to seeing Mycroft around, she supposed, and he couldn't very well sleep in his suits.

"Hey." Her dad stood and pulled her into a crushing hug. "I'm sorry for the way I reacted. You scared the hell out of me and then reading all of those files, I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

"Its fine, Dad. I'm fine." She pulled away, heading towards the kitchen to get a drink. He didn't need to know she was lying, right? He didn't need to know that she would never be 'fine' again. She cracked the cap on a bottle of water as she returned, looking up to see the two men sharing a very quiet and intimate conversation. She rolled her eyes as her father pressed a kiss to the other man's lips. Without a word she wedged herself into the space between the two, propping her feet on the coffee table and sipping her water.

"New rule: We keep things rated G outside the bedrooms, yeah?" Her father nudged her shoulder as Mycroft blushed. "You two are adorable together, not gonna lie, but I do not want to see it. Watching you two snog on the sofa would be about as uncomfortable as you watching me snog some bloke. It's really only fair."

She received no response and taking that as a sign of agreement, she leaned forward to grab the box of take-away her father had reheated for her. The press of gentle fingers to her back shocked her, making her gasp and tense. She looked over her shoulder to see her father looking at her back, at her scars. Mycroft was doing the same, his blue eyes following the lines of scars across her back. His gaze ended on her thigh just centimeters from his own. He shifted to get a better look, the silk of his pajama pants brushing against her, creating friction along the scar and igniting the nerve endings. She bit her lip to keep from crying out and the cold look in his eyes softened marginally as he caught her reaction. She sat back as the pain subsided and stared ahead at the television. None of them said a word about any of it, unanimously deciding that there had been enough talk for the night. Aria ate her dinner slowly as the three of them watched the TV, the tension of the previous moment fading away.

X-X-X-X-X

It was happening again. She was freezing cold, soaking wet and surrounded by unending darkness. Moving was impossible and breathing felt like thousands of tiny razor blades had filled her throat and chest. In an instant the world around her was illuminated as a whip cracked against her back and stars burst behind her eyes. Over and over it fell, slicing through the already shredded flesh. She could feel the warmth of fresh blood as it seeped from the wounds.

Buckets of water, alternating between freezing and boiling, were poured over her body. She wanted to cry, to scream, to do something other than just stand there, but she couldn't move. She tried to yell, but nothing came out. A cloth soaked in petrol was roughly shoved in her mouth, duct tape over her lips preventing her from spitting it out. Her vision began to blur, the edges darkening as her grip on consciousness weakened. As her vision failed a face appeared. Hard, dead gray eyes watched her, a cruel smirk showing sharpened canines, and a merciless laugh filled her ears. She cringed, struggling to move away, to protect herself, but it was futile. With one final crack of the whip her world went black.

X-X-X-X-X

Aria jerked awake, a scream dying on her lips. She was soaked in sweat, her blankets tossed to the floor and her sheets ruffled. Her bedroom door was thrown open, her light flicked on. Her father was there, taking her hand, pulling her into a hug and rocking her gently back a forth. None of it registered in her mind. Her psyche was still locked in a world of endless pain and fear. She could still taste the petrol on her tongue, feel it burn her nostrils and her lungs with every breath. She could still hear the sharp crack of the bullwhip as it connected with her back.

She needed something to ground her to the present, to pull her from the torment of her mind. She shoved her father way and scrambled from the bed, brushing past Mycroft and into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her. She dug through her medicine cabinet, tossing things into the sink or onto the floor until her hand closed around a small, thin piece of metal. She pulled it out and stared at it for a moment before pressing the sharpened edge to the inside of her left forearm. She made several long diagonal cuts before a large hand closed around hers and ripped the razor blade from her grasp. She whimpered as she moved away, her back pressing against the wall.

She slid down the wall, landing hard on the cold tile floor. She closed her eyes tightly against the tears that filled them, her arm throbbing as blood seeped from the cuts. The pain was exactly what she had needed. Her heart rate was slowing, her breathing was evening out, and the mental pain from the nightmare was dulling into numbness. It wasn't until the pain ebbed away that the tremors began.

Her entire body tensed, her muscles seizing. It was a side effect of the electroshock torture she had endured. Another sharp pain shocked her back to reality. Her eyes flew open, meeting piercing blue eyes. Mycroft had pulled the blade from her. He had doused her cuts in alcohol, knowing the pain would stop the tremors, and now he was pressing a cotton pad to the self-inflicted wounds, knowing that the continued ache would keep her focused. Her father stood behind him, holding the blade in his hand. He wasn't angry, though. Sadness filled his eyes as he watched his only daughter carve into her own flesh, using one pain to stop another.

He let the razor fall to the floor as he moved towards her. He sat beside her on the cold tile, his back against the wall, and gathered her to him. He whispered against her temple that everything would be alright, promising that somehow they would get through this. She clung tightly to him, her arms wrapped around his neck as she cried into his shoulder.

They remained this way for a long time before the sound of several somethings clattering to the floor drew them back to reality. They looked up to find Mycroft, whom they had both forgotten was even there, standing near the doorway by the sink, a toothbrush, a hair brush, and a cup at his feet. He cleared his throat and held his head a bit higher in an attempt to say, 'I have no idea how that happened.' They stared at each other for a moment before he nodded and hastily exited the room, whistling awkwardly as he went. Aria felt her father's chest vibrate as he chuckled and shook his head.

She felt lips press against the top of her head before her father began to hum softly just as he had when she was a little girl and couldn't sleep because of the monsters in her closet. Her eyes grew heavy as she breathed in, the warm musk of her father's cologne and the sharp spice of sandalwood which she assumed to be Mycroft's cologne mingling in the air. Feeling safe and protected, she slipped into a dreamless sleep as the sky outside began to lighten.


	6. A Step In The Right Direction

Aria had awoken the next morning to an empty flat, her father and Mycroft having left for work. The only difference was the sudden, though not unexpected, disappearance of razors, kitchen knives, and any other item that could be used in a similar fashion.

Days passed and not a word was said about what had happened that night. Aria had spent most of the time sitting in front of the fireplace, or in her bed with the lights off and the curtains drawn. Something had cracked inside her that night, but she couldn't figure out what. She couldn't eat, she barely slept, and her mind remained firmly entrenched in the battlefields of her memories. After four days of her self-imposed exile from the world her father had finally had enough.

"Get up." He ordered as he entered her room turning on the light and opening the curtains to let in the mid-morning sun. Aria groaned and rolled over; hiding her face in her pillow. She could feel his eyes on her, and could sense his frustration. He tore the covers away, tossing them to the floor at the foot of her bed.

"Up. Now."

"Go away." She growled as her body curled in on itself. She didn't want to get up. She didn't want to move, or breathe, or exist. Existing hurt too much.

"Fine. We'll do this the exciting way." He grabbed her hands and pulled her up before tossing her over his shoulder. She was still much too thin, and her days of wallowing in self-pity had done nothing to correct this.

"Dad," she shrieked, smacking his back with her hands. "Put me down!"

"Okay." He dropped her into the tub. Before she had a chance to register what had happened, much less move, he turned the shower on full blast, the water freezing cold. She flailed about for a moment, her wet clothes causing her to slide against the porcelain, until she managed to grab a hold of the lip of the tub and pull herself upright. Heaving and shivering, she shut the water off. She turned to glare at her father, but stopped short as she caught sight of Mycroft. She climbed out of the tub, her head held high, and marched past them, a trail of water in her wake.

Not caring for propriety (they hadn't, after all) she began stripping the wet garments off. A towel was thrown at the back of her head, and as she bent down to pick it up she gathered the pile of soaked clothes and threw them back. The resulting 'umph' gave her a small sense of satisfaction as she toweled off and began searching for clean clothes.

She pulled on her underwear and bra and roughly dried her hair before donning a pair of navy yoga pants and a black vest. Over top she wore an over-sized grey hoodie adorned with a faded Metallica logo. She brushed her fingers though her hair and slid her feet into her trainers.

"Better?" She smiled mockingly as she looked at the two men. Her father was glaring at her in disapproval, while Mycroft had resolutely turned his back on her. Still she could see the blush creeping up his neck and the tips of his ears.

"Much." Her father replied in a similar tone before pushing her towards the door. They herded her out of the flat and into a black Jaguar that was waiting outside. Mycroft spoke in hushed tones to the driver before climbing in and shutting the door. She was firmly wedged between the two of them when the car took off.

"Anyone going to tell me-"

"No." Both men replied simultaneously.

"You didn't even let me-"

"No." They said again.

She huffed and glowered at both of them. When the car finally stopped, Mycroft exited first, holding the door open for her father to shove her out. He climbed out behind her and shut the door. Aria glanced around, confused and a bit nervous. A hand on her back ushered her forward towards a relatively small, but modern building. The exterior was mostly made up of glass, and the areas that weren't were painted a neutral cream color.

It wasn't until they had passed through the doors and were headed towards the lift that Aria realized where they were. She tried to back away, to push past the men that surrounded her, and run back the way she had come, but they refused to allow it. As the doors to the lift opened, her father caught her arm in an iron grip and dragged her inside.

"I'm not doing it."

"I don't remember asking." He smirked as she glared at him.

"Aria, we're only doing what's best for you." Mycroft said, trying to ease the mounting tension. The lift opened once more and they exited; her father never letting go of her. He knew she would try to run. They came to a small waiting room filled with chairs, and magazines scattered over the few side tables.

Mycroft walked over to a reception desk and spoke to the woman behind it. A moment later, the woman nodded and stood up. She disappeared behind a plain wooden door for several minutes before reappearing and motioning for them to follow. They led her through the door and into a smaller, cozier room. Several sofas and various types of chairs created a semi-circle in the middle of the room. To the far right corner was a desk covered with stacks of folders and papers, a large computer monitor and several closed cabinets overhead.

Behind the desk sat a middle-aged woman with thick curly auburn hair, caramel colored skin and sharp features. She appeared almost hawkish with a beaklike nose and piercing silver eyes behind thin wire-framed glasses. She was dressed professionally, but comfortably, in beige linen trousers, a forest green linen blouse and dark brown leather flats. Her wild curls were pulled back into a high ponytail, a few stray tendrils framing her face. What little jewelry she wore was simple but elegant. Small pearl studs adorned her earlobes, a matching string around her neck, and on her wrist was a plain silver watch.

The woman rose from her seat as the group entered the room and moved around to greet them. A genuine, warm smile softened her features drastically as she held out her hand. When she spoke, her voice was soothing, almost hypnotic.

"Detective Inspector, it's good to see you."

"Doctor Hughes," He took her outstretched hand, "I'd agree, but given the circumstances…"

"I understand."

"This," he gestured towards Mycroft, "is Myc. I may have mentioned him."

The doctor nodded to the government official before turning to Aria with her hand outstretched, "And you must be Aria. You're father has spoken of you often in the past."

"Really? He's never mentioned you at all." She quipped, ignoring the proffered hand.

"You're angry. That's natural. I've dealt with similar situations. They all start out angry, but I've found it's more of a defensive mechanism than anything."

"You don't know a damn thing about my situation, and yes, I am angry. I have a lot to be angry about. Least of all is my father forcing me to see a shrink against my will." The hand on her upper arm tightened in warning. The woman in front of her nodded and smiled softly.

"You're right. I don't know anything about your situation, not specifically, but I've treated quite a few soldiers that have returned home suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress. I like to think I've even helped a few of them, and I'd really like to help you."

Aria huffed and looked away. Her gaze landed on her reflection in a window several feet away and she stopped short. Was that really her? She had wanted so badly to return to the person she had once been, on the outside at least, but the person she saw in the glass didn't even look like her. The past few days had undone all the progress she had made over the last few weeks, leaving her looking pale and drawn. She had lost what little weight she had gained and the bruises beneath her eyes spoke of just how little she had slept since that night on her bathroom floor.

She swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump that had formed in her throat. She was sick to death of fighting. It seemed that was all she ever did. She spent her childhood fighting with her mother, her years in the service fighting the enemy, and now she was fighting her father, and at times it seemed the entire world. She was ready for the fighting to stop and just maybe she stood a chance of it if she took the path before her. Feeling defeated, she relaxed against her father's grasp and nodded.

"Fine; I mean, it's not like you can make it any worse, right?"

Doctor Hughes smiled again, "That's not quite what I was hoping to hear, but it's a start. If you're willing to work at it, to talk about things instead of internalizing them, we can get there. Now, if you two gentlemen will kindly wait outside, I'd like to get started with my new patient."

Reluctantly her father released her and followed Mycroft back into the waiting room. Aria was ushered over to the seating area where the doctor asked her to choose a seat. She picked a large, overstuffed armchair and took a seat. She pulled her feet up beneath herself and tried to relax into the cushion. Doctor Hughes sat in a worn leather desk chair across from her, her legs crossed at the knee and her hands resting in her lap.

"First, I'll tell you a bit about myself. When you feel comfortable, you can tell me about yourself, alright?"

Aria simply nodded in response.

"My name is Melinda Hughes. You can call me Mel, Melinda, or Doctor Hughes. I was born in Liverpool, but I moved to London when I was seven. My father died when I was six, and my mother and I moved in with her sister and brother-in-law. I went got my PhD. in Psychology from Cambridge when I was twenty-nine. I spent a few years working for the state, gaining practical experience. When I was thirty-six, I opened my own practice. Over the years, I've helped your father on several cases, but I mainly deal with private clients. I specialize in cases of PTSD in patients of all ages."

Aria was silent for a while trying to figure out where she should start. Did she begin with the cause of this one problem, or with the root of all of her issues? If she was going to be subjected to psychiatric treatment, why not make the most of it? She knew she needed help, but she had never bothered to ask anyone for it.

"I…"She paused. Words seemed to evade her the moment she opened her mouth to speak.

"You're overthinking it. Close your eyes. Take a few deep breaths and try to relax. You're safe here. When you're ready, I want you to tell me the first thing that comes to mind and we'll go from there."

Aria did as instructed. She leaned back into the plush cushion and tried to clear her thoughts, but it wasn't an easy task. After ten minutes, she still hadn't made any progress and she was growing increasingly frustrated. As yet another attempt failed, she growled and stood up to pace across the small area.

"This isn't working. I can't…I can't do this. I thought I could, but I can't."

"You need to be patient, Aria. It takes a lot longer to undo damage than it does to cause it. Why don't we start with your childhood? Tell me what it was like growing up? What was your family like?"

Aria pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as she thought. "It was alright, I suppose. My mother and I were never very close. Her career was more important than being my mum. She practically disowned me when I joined the military; though I guess that's as much my fault as it was hers. My dad…he's always been there for me despite him not really being around much. He worked a lot. Still does. He taught me everything, from tying my shoes and riding a bike to rebuilding an engine. I always knew that if I ever needed him, he'd be there for me."

"But he wasn't."

Aria shook her head. "No. When I needed him most, he was half a world away with no idea what was going on. I know it's not his fault, but at the same time some small part of me feels…"

"Abandoned?" Dr. Hughes suggested. Aria sighed and nodded. She had resumed her seat and was intently studying the pattern of the chair's upholstery.

"After I got back, I thought I could handle everything. I thought that if I tried hard enough to be the person I was then I would be, but I'm not. I was okay for a while, until the flashbacks started. I wake up not knowing where I am, or what's going on. I can't breathe. I can't think of anything beyond the fear and the pain. Something inside me is broken, and I don't know what it is or how to fix it." She wasn't aware that she was crying until the tears splashed upon the back of her hand. "I'm guessing he told you about the other night?"

Doctor Hughes nodded, "I'd like to see it, if I may?"

Aria pushed up the sleeve of her hoodie. The cuts hadn't been very deep and were already scabbing over. The doctor looked at them for a moment before sitting back in her chair.

"Is this your first instance of self-harm?" she asked. Aria simply nodded. She had never even thought about it before. The doctor smiled sadly.

"We all have different ways of coping with trauma. Some people become depressed, some become hysterical. Some act like it never happened and just go about their lives as normal. Do you know why you did this, Aria?"

"I needed to bring myself back to reality, and the only thing I could think of to break away from the mental pain was physical pain."

The doctor nodded. "You aren't the first person to reach that conclusion. I'm going to write you a prescription for an anti-depressant. I think you can benefit from taking it for its intended purpose, but I'm mostly concerned with your lack of sleep at this point, and the pills will help with that. Take them for a week as directed, and I'll see you again next Tuesday, alright?"

Aria nodded and stood up. She held her hand out to the doctor who took it and gave in a reassuring squeeze.

"We'll get you through this, I promise. I've never given up on a patient, and I'm not going to give up on you. Now, your father has my number if you need anything. Anytime, day or night, even if you just need to talk give me call." Doctor Hughes showed her back out into the waiting room. She looked at the two men and gave them a nod and a knowing smile before returning to her office.

Aria moved towards them, her hands in the pockets of her hoodie, her eyes fixed on the carpet. They stood there a moment in silence before she looked up at them.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"For what? You haven't got anything to be sorry for, love." Her father said as he placed an arm around her shoulders. She couldn't help but scoff.

"I'm sorry for a lot of things." When she didn't elaborate, he nodded and began heading towards the lift.

"Hey, who's hungry?" He smiled. He was always good at changing the subject. Aria wanted to smile, to pretend that she was alright again, but she couldn't. She knew that if anything was to work in getting her back to some semblance of normal, she would have to stop pretending. She also knew that she would have to start trying. She nodded as he suggested they stop by the bistro down the street before heading home.


	7. Texting and Walking Aren't Always Bad

Chapter Seven

As the weeks passed by Aria began to see a change in herself. She was looking healthier, sleeping better, and all around felt like she was almost normal again. She had been slowly putting on weight, and her skin was regaining a healthy pallor. The longer she spent going to see Doctor Hughes, the better she was feeling about everything.

Over the past weeks she had begun to work through some of her more daunting issues. She was learning to forgive her mother for her actions, though she knew that it wouldn't change anything. Her mother had made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with either Aria or her father, and if Aria was honest with herself she was perfectly fine with that. Her mother had caused them both a lot of pain and it was better if they forgave her and then forgot about her.

She was also working through her trust issues. The doctor had been given clearance by Mycroft to know everything about what had happened to her. Unlike everyone else, Doctor Hughes hadn't pitied her or tried to tell her that everything would be alright. She knew the truth; that nothing was alright and that some things were likely to stay with her for the rest of her life. What she was doing was trying to help Aria to move on from it. To come to terms with what had happened and to move forward with her life. It was slow going, but they were making some progress.

Aria was also trying to rebuild the relationship she had with her father. She knew that what had happened to her wasn't his fault. She also knew that he felt as guilty about not being able to protect her as she felt about not being able to save those innocent people. She still had bad days, but the good ones were beginning to outweigh them. She had also made the effort to get to know Mycroft, and by extension, Sherlock and John. She struggled with being social, and with taking part in what was going on around her, but she tried and it seemed to make a difference.

It was now early autumn and Aria had been home for almost seven months. They had been an interesting seven months to say the least. She and her father had taken a short holiday to the coast in the middle of July, and it proved to be extremely beneficial to their relationship. As soon as they had returned home her father had headed off up north to Dartmoor at Mycroft's request. He returned several days later with Sherlock and John in tow, and they had explained what John was calling the Hound of Baskerville case.

The latter part of the summer had been filled with a few smaller cases; though she never had experience with them firsthand. She had insisted she was done with fighting, and she had stuck by it. She wasn't about to run off chasing some psychopath through the streets of London just for a thrill. She didn't even want to imagine how far that would undermine all the progress she had made.

Even so, she was growing bored with nothing to occupy herself, and thus she decided that going to university would be the best move she could make. Her father had quickly agreed, and even Doctor Hughes had felt that it would be a positive experience that would help her in getting better. With the support of those around her, she had eagerly applied to King's College. Shortly after, she had been accepted and with the help of Mycroft was able to get everything done that was necessary in order to attend the fall semester and begin working on her undergraduate degree.

It was only the second week of the term, but between attending classes, doing the classwork, and the homework, Aria found she had little time to worry about anything beyond her education. What free time she could find was spent with her father, and on occasion Mycroft, Sherlock, and John. John had been thrilled when she had mentioned going to King's College. He then spent the next two hours telling her all about his time there, from the faculty and classes to the best places to study or grab a quick bite to eat.

As she made her way from campus to the Tube station at Temple, she let her mind wander to the future. Under normal circumstances she never would have allowed herself to do so. Thinking of the future meant hoping that there would be one. Until recently that had never been something she had let herself do. She spent most of her time on the tube trying to narrow down her choices for a postgraduate degree, and was trying to decide between linguistics, which she had always been passionate about, or law.

She knew that with a law degree her options would be much better, but it would also be slow going and tedious, not to mention stressful. Linguistics provided fewer options but was also something she had always been fascinated by. The idea that all speech had evolved from the same root language into the thousands of different languages and dialects that existed today was incredible. She was a firm believer that language was the key to making the world a better place.

Many problems the world faced were brought about by a lack of understanding. Communication was the problem, and language was the root of communication. If one could understand language, and the history of it, then one could more easily communicate between opposing cultures to resolve conflict. At least, that's was her experience. She had been a mediator during several missions and her skills in Arabic had been invaluable in keeping the peace.

Aria got off at Notting Hill Gate and wandered towards Hyde Park. It was still early, only just two in the afternoon, and her stomach grumbled in protest at having been ignored for so long. She made a quick stop at a small café for an order of fish and chips before continuing on. She walked for several minutes until she found a quiet, secluded area near the Round Pond. She dropped her satchel on the ground and plopped down beside it as she took a bite of her greasy, perfectly crispy fish.

She didn't bother fighting the small moan of pleasure that escaped her lips as the batter melted on her tongue and the buttery fish followed suit. It had been ages since she'd eaten anything so deliciously unhealthy, and she suddenly wondered why she had ever given it up. She continued to eat in silence, taking in everything around her.

The pond was several meters ahead, the walkways crowded by tourists and locals alike. The sky was clear, the afternoon sun warm on her skin, and the air crisp and sweet with the scent of freshly mown grass. The leaves on the trees were slowly turning from green to shades of red, orange, yellow and brown. If every day could be like this, Aria figured she'd be happy for the rest of her life. The small chime of her message alert roused her from her musings.

Something's come up. I'll be home late. Don't wait up. Love you. – Dad

She sighed; another long night of homework and take-away. She stood up and gathered her things, deciding it was time she head home. She quickly typed a response as she made her way towards the walkway that would lead her clear across the large greenway to the Mayfair side of the park.

Be careful. Hope everything's alright. Love you, too. –A

Just as she hit the send button she ran into something hard. She stumbled backwards, dropping her bag and landing hard on her backside. Her mobile fell to the walkway with a thud and slid several feet away into the grass. She looked up as a black gloved hand was held out to her. Her eyes followed the path from the hand, up the arm, and into dark brown, deep-set eyes. He raised one heavy brow at her and wiggled his hand a bit, a smirk playing on his lips.

Feeling a blush creep along her cheeks she took his hand and pulled herself to her feel. As she retrieved her satchel and mobile, she began to apologize.

"I am so sorry. Are you alright? I should really pay better attention. My dad keeps telling me I shouldn't text and walk, but I never listen." She rambled.

"It's alright." He replied nonchalantly. His accent was obviously Irish. If she had to guess, Aria would have said he was from Dublin.

"Oh…"She smiled nervously, unsure of what else to say. He was a rather attractive man, with pale skin, dark, slicked back hair, and luxuriously expensive clothing. He appeared perfectly at ease in a bespoke navy suit, the collar of a crisp white button-down peeking out from between the lapels. A black tie was done up perfectly in a Windsor knot, the fabric adorned with what looked like small silver skulls. The outfit was completed by a pair of pristine black leather oxfords and a small white kerchief in his left breast pocket.

What really drew her in though were his eyes. They were so incredibly dark brown that they were almost black. They seemed to draw in all of the light around them, but gave none of it back. It felt as though he were peering into her very core, like he could read everything about her through those intense eyes. She quickly realized she was staring and glanced away, blushing again as he grinned.

"I'm Aria." She said shyly, holding out a hand.

"That's a lovely name." He replied. Instead of shaking her hand, he took it gently in his own and bent down to press a kiss to her knuckles.

"Thank you."

"Who were you texting that was so important? Boyfriend? Husband?"

"No!" she replied a bit too quickly and vehemently. "I mean, no. It was my dad. I don't have a- er- a boyfriend or anything."

His grin seemed to widen a bit at her admission. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and looked down. Realizing she was still holding his hand, she quickly let go and stepped back.

"I should get going. I've got a lot of work to do." She made to walk past him, but stopped short as he spoke again.

"I'll see you around, Aria."

She took a deep breath before turning around to respond, only to find that he was gone. She shook her head and made her way home, the meeting relaying in her mind the entire way back to the flat. It wasn't until she closed the door to 85A that she realized he had never given her his name.


	8. Meetings

Chapter Eight

In the weeks following her run in with the strange man Aria had all but put him from her mind. Sure he had been handsome and polite, but he only had her first name and she didn't have his at all. The chances of them meeting again were slim. Having decided that her focus should be on her studies rather than her daydreams, she went about her life as though he had never entered it which only made it that much more surprising when she bumped into him on the Tube at the end of September.

She was so focused on her Ethics text that she hadn't been paying any attention to her surroundings, and missed the moment when he took the seat beside her. Feeling as though she were being watched, Aria had looked up ready to tell off whoever happened to be staring so rudely at her. When she caught sight of him, she jumped, her book falling to the floor with a solid 'thud.' He was watching her every move with a playful smile dancing on his lips as he bent down to retrieve her book. They were silent for what felt like hours as she watched him flip through its pages looking somewhat bored.

Just as she began to speak the Tube slowed to a halt at Notting Hill Gate. She stood and gathered her things before turning to him expectantly, her hand held out towards him. He placed the heavy tome in her outstretched palm and smiled again. Aria was certain she had forgotten how to breathe as his gaze held her in place.

"You're going to miss your stop." He said. A second later she was rushing through the closing doors and onto the platform. She made her way towards the platform for the Central line still in a daze.

X-X-X-X-X

October passed by in a blur of family dinners, late night revisions, and meetings with Doctor Hughes. The days had grown colder as autumn took hold, and the only excitement in Aria's life was the occasional night when Mycroft, Sherlock, and John would join them for a meal. As Halloween approached, Aria began to feel restless and made the decision to decorate the flat. It had always been one of her favorite holidays, and she was thrilled that her father was willing to let her unleash her pent up energy in preparation for it.

It was a week before Halloween and Aria was out getting a few last minute decorations. She had spent most of the morning putting everything together, but had run out of fake spider webs among other things. As she strolled through the aisles of the party goods store looking for what she needed, his voice rang out and brought her to a standstill.

"We really should stop meeting like this," he said, twirling a fake skull about in his hands. "I might start to think you're stalking me, my dear."

Aria laughed at his words, shaking her head as the skull slipped through his fingers and rolled across the floor. "Don't flatter yourself."

Her words seemed to catch him off guard, as though he hadn't expected her to make any sort of comeback. He smirked and nodded, "I wouldn't dream of it."

He followed her about the store, though they barely spoke. He made a few suggestions on what to buy if she wanted to give her father a truly shocking welcome home that night. As she paid, he took her bags and they exited the shop. Aria buttoned up her jacket and took her bags from him as they walked along the sidewalk. The wind was biting and an ominous feeling permeated the air around them. There was something about him that felt off, but Aria couldn't figure out what it was.

They came to a stop at the corner of Duke and Oxford. She looked about for a second, intending to cross the street. When she looked back to thank him and tell him goodbye, the look in his eyes froze her. For a brief second she thought she saw something evil deep within them, and his smile suddenly seemed sinister. As soon as it had appeared however, the look vanished like a shadow fleeing from the light of the sun. Aria shook her head and swallowed roughly before darting across the street and into the mass of people moving south towards Brook Street.

X-X-X-X-X

"Finally!" Aria cried as she entered the flat on the second Friday of November. Her father appeared from the kitchen, a dishtowel over his shoulder and a beer in his hand.

"I take it you did well?" He asked.

"Well, I won't know my actual grades until the end of next week, but I'm fairly confident that I kicked my midterm's arse." She grinned proudly as she hung her jacket by the door. The weather had turned downright brutal as winter approached and Aria had taken to wearing several layers most of the time. She shuffled her way down the hall and into her bedroom, stripping off her thick lilac jumper as she went.

"Hi, Myc!" She waved as she entered her room. She didn't wait for a response as she kicked the door closed and toed off her boots. The hems of her trousers were soaked and freezing from the walk home, and she made quick work of stripping them off, along with her now wet socks, and tossing them into the growing pile of dirty laundry in the bottom of her closet. She pulled on a pair of bright yellow sweat capris and thick, fuzzy neon orange ankle socks. She was still wearing the loose tee she had worn to classes that day, a heather grey V-neck with a picture of a Storm Trooper riding a narwhal through a rainbow on the front.

"Hey Myc!" She grinned as she reentered the parlor. His only response was to raise the tumbler in his right hand, his eyes never leaving the newspaper in his lap. She walked into the kitchen, and peeked over her father's shoulder as she went.

"What's for dinner?" she asked as she hopped up to sit on the worktop to his left.

"Food."

"No shit! Really?"

"Yes, really. Now," He nudged her in the side, "Get off the worktop. Don't you have other people to pester? I'm sure Myc would love your company." They heard what sounded like a snort from the parlor. She shrugged and jumped down, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and made her way back into the parlor. Just as she turned the corner, a knock sounded at the door.

"Got it!" She yelled, tossing the bottle onto the sofa and running back down the hallway. She slid to a stop at the door and pulled it open. "Yeah?"

"Package for Aria Lestrade," the courier replied.

"That's me." She took the parcel from him and signed the receipt before closing the door once more.

"Who was it?" her father called

"Courier. It's a package for me, but I didn't order anything."

"Perhaps it's a birthday present from your mother." Mycroft suggested from his seat before the hearth, his tone unconvincing even to himself. Her birthday was the next day, and she had made it clear to all of them that she neither wanted nor needed anything more than their continued presence in her life.

"Yeah, sure," Aria laughed as she began pulling off the brown paper that hid its contents from view. Beneath the paper was a plain white box, and inside the box lay a single white rose and a small stuffed bear with black fur. It was almost exactly the same as one of the many stuffed bears her mother had binned so long ago. Around the bears neck was fairy link chain of what looked like silver adorned with a single pendant.

Aria gasped. She knew this necklace. She had stopped to admire it several times in a shop window on her way home from classes, but it simply wasn't possible. This necklace cost a small fortune. The chain was white gold, not silver, and the pendant was a single pear-shaped emerald surrounded by small, but perfect, white diamonds. Her hands shook as she pulled the necklace from the bear and held it up. The flickering flames in the fireplace caught every facet of every stone and the pendant seemed to light up from within.

"This fell out." Mycroft said as he handed her a small, plain card. She hadn't even seen him get up. One side of the card was blank, but on the other side of it was the letter J embossed in dark green ink. Handwritten in black ink beneath it were the words Happy Birthday.

X-X-X-X-X

Christmas passed quietly for the occupants of 85A Brook Street. They'd had a small dinner with Mycroft on Christmas Eve before exchanging presents. Aria had gotten her father a regulation football signed by the members of his favorite team with the help of John, who had apparently served overseas with one of the member's fathers or uncles. She couldn't remember which. For Mycroft she had gotten a vintage t-shirt. She had spent hours looking through racks of them for the perfect one, but it had been worth it. When he looked at her after pulling it from its wrappings, she shrugged and said simply, "You're family."

It had been a longstanding tradition between her father and herself that they always had one go-to well-worn vintage shirt, and she felt it was time for Mycroft to have one as well. They didn't need to know that she had also gotten one for John and Sherlock each. She didn't think it needed to be said.

Aria received a new leather riding jacket from her father. Hers had been in need of replacing for some time, but she had been wary of giving it up. Mycroft had gifted her with a brand new laptop and glared at her scathingly when she had tried saying that she couldn't accept something so expensive. No one spoke of the necklace in the back of her dresser drawer. By way of Mycroft, Sherlock and John had given her new leather riding gloves with thick fur lining and a cream colored Merino wool cardigan respectively.

Her father and Mycroft had attended a small party at 221B for New Year's and had offered to take her along, but Aria had declined. She hadn't been feeling excessively social of late and the idea of being surrounded by people in such a small space was daunting. She opted instead for a stroll through Grosvenor Square Park in the snow. She wore thick charcoal wool tights, a pair of black ankle boots, and a fitted hunter green dress. Over her blouse she wore the cardigan John had given her. On a whim she had pulled out the necklace and slipped it on. Her hair had grown out since her arrival in the spring, falling to just above her shoulder blades in loose curls.

Aria had wandered through the park for a while, and watched as couples strolled hand in hand along the walkways or stopped to share a kiss in the lightly falling snow. Her mind wandered to the mysterious Irishman for the first time since Halloween as her fingers toyed with the delicate pendant resting between her collarbones. She suspected that he had been the generous provider of her necklace, recalling his expensive taste in clothing, but then, why?

They hardly knew each other, after all, and they had only met on three occasions. She doubted he had fallen for her. Men like him didn't fall for girls like her outside of the cinema. She shook her head and looked up at the sky as she took a seat on a snowy bench. Stars twinkled in the inky blackness and the moon shone bright and full overhead. Thin, wispy clouds shrouded parts of the sky and dropped thin flurries of snow to the ground below.

"You're wearing your necklace." She would have been more surprised if he hadn't shown up really. She felt the boards of the bench beneath her shift as he sat beside her. He was close, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him in the bitter cold. She shivered slightly, though she tried to hide it. When she finally tore her gaze from the sky above, her eyes fell to his and she gasped. He was only inches away. His proximity wasn't nearly as alarming however as the look in his eyes.

She had been afraid that she would only see that evil shadow in their bottomless depths the next time they met, but she was mistaken. A fire burned in his eyes hot enough to melt the snow around them. The intensity of it burned her very core and it terrified her.

"Y-you sh-shouldn't have gotten it for m-me." She stumbled over her words as the air around them grew hot and thick. It was almost suffocating. "It's too much…"

Her words were cut short as the fire in his eyes flared. She gulped as his voice turned to ice, "You don't like it."

"No…I mean, yes. I-I love it." She said quickly, trying to diffuse the situation. "It's just that, it's very expensive. I spent long enough looking at it in the shop window to know how much it cost. You barely know me. I'm hardly worth so much money."

His gaze softened at her words and he smiled sweetly. The quick shift in moods raised a red flag in the back of Aria's mind, but in her current position she didn't have much time to contemplate it. He had removed his black leather gloves and shoved them into the pocket of his black Belstaff coat. He pushed a stray curl from her face, the pad of his finger brushing against her cheekbone. Another tremor ran through her and she could feel the heat of a blush as it crept along her cheeks.

"I-er-should probably be getting home. It's getting kind of late."

"Soon," He was staring at her again, watching her like a predator would prey. It was unnerving and somewhat flattering at the same time. She wanted to stand up, to walk away, to run home and hide beneath her blankets, but she couldn't move.

There was something terribly wrong with this man, and the logical part of her mind was screaming at her that it wasn't safe, but some unknown force had taken control of her body and had robbed her of any sort of free will. Years of training triggered something deep in her mind and she wondered briefly if the necklace was more than just a necklace. Perhaps it was coated in some sort of thermal activated neurotoxin that caused temporary paralysis.

'Don't be ridiculous,' she thought. 'It's likely just nerves. I haven't been so close to anyone in years, and the idea of any form of intimacy is terrifying. Maybe this is what I need to push myself forward. I haven't made much progress with Doctor Hughes lately. Maybe this will-'

Her thoughts ended abruptly as he pressed his lips to hers in a chaste kiss. It only lasted a second, but it was long enough. Aria bolted from the bench and ran. She didn't stop running until she reached the flat. Hazily she recalled him saying something as she had stared at him in disbelief, and she was fairly certain that it had been "Happy New Year."


	9. Lunch

Chapter Nine

The events of New Years were on repeat in her mind. It had been three weeks since she had run away from him and she still couldn't figure out exactly why she had fled. Every time Aria thought she had gotten over the kiss, or the fire in his eyes, she would feel the weight of the necklace around her neck and the memory would hit her like a kick to the stomach. It was frustratingly distracting, and would often choose the worst possible moment to happen.

Today she had been in the middle of a debate in her ethics class when it happened. She had been making a very convincing argument and had simply been brushing her hair back when her fingers danced across the chain hidden beneath the collar of her jumper. Suddenly she had been unable to breathe or form a coherent thought. Feeling her anxiety spike, Aria had quickly excused herself and left, grabbing her satchel along the way.

Now she was sitting on the tube, crammed between a very large man who lacked any sense of personal space, and a very loud child who decided the tube was the best place to see just how loud he could scream before his mother would chastise him. The mother seemed immune to his game however as she sat on the opposite bench with her nose in a book. She was just about to start screaming back at him when her message alert sounded. Huffing, she pulled her mobile from her pocket, expecting it to be a text from her father or Mycroft.

Get off at Gloucester. – J

'What the hell?' She thought. How had he gotten her number? She didn't remember ever giving it to him. The tube slowed to a stop at Gloucester Road, but she was hesitant to get off. Her mobile dinged again.

Today – J

'Really? Is he watching me?' She glanced around the compartment, but didn't recognize any of the faces. She quickly departed the compartment and made her way up to street level as she mobile alerted her to another text.

Turn right on Gloucester. – J

She made her way south, stopping at the crosswalk a few meters away.

Right on Courtfield. – J

Aria grumbled, but did as instructed. All she wanted was to go home, maybe stop by her favorite café for some fish and chips. She had hoped that she wouldn't see him again so soon; not until she had had enough time to sort out her emotions.

Pay attention, pet. Across the street, Bombay Brassier. – J

Was he trying to be annoying or was he just an arse? Aria wasn't sure, but it was starting to try her patience. She stood on the opposite side of the street from the upscale restaurant weighing her options. She wanted to walk away, but at the same time she had skipped breakfast because she had overslept, and now she was certain her stomach was attempting to eat itself. What harm could there be in having lunch with him? 'Especially if he's paying.'

It's rude to keep people waiting, Aria. – J

She crossed the street and entered the restaurant. It was a luxurious space with elegant furnishings. Pictures covered a black accent wall to the right, whereas the other walls were done in pristine white. The floors were in dark parquet wood, and the ceilings were white with large domed chandeliers. A few tables were occupied with lunchtime patrons, and Aria felt horribly underdressed in comparison. In her morning rush she had thrown on whatever she happened to grab first. As a result she had left the flat in acid-wash slim-fit jeans, a faded black vest, a loose-weave navy jumper, and a pair of well-worn black Doc Martens.

The hostess at the door had eyed her with disdain before leading her to a secluded table at the back of the dining room. She smiled and went to thank the woman, but she had already walked away. She shrugged and looked at the man sitting at the table. He appeared perfectly at ease, sitting back in his chair with his legs crossed and a glass of red wine in his hand. He wore a light charcoal suit with a navy button-down and a silver tie. The toe of one black oxford tapped lazily against the leg of the table as he watched her, his dark eyes analyzing her every move.

Without a word Aria dropped her satchel onto the bench seat opposite his chair and slid in beside it. She tucked one leg beneath her and leaned forward with her arms crossed on the tabletop. She watched him watching her; both daring the other to speak. A server approached, placing a glass of water garnished with a wedge of lime before her and refilling his glass of wine. Aria lifted the glass to her lips and took a small sip, grimacing as the taste of mineral water filled her mouth.

"You going to tell me why I'm here?" She asked shortly.

He grinned darkly at her before setting down his glass. "Lunch, of course. I hope you don't mind, I ordered for you. No doubt you were planning to stop for something cheap and full of grease. I thought perhaps you might enjoy a proper meal."

Under normal circumstances, Aria would have been flattered by his concern but today simply wasn't normal. Between waking up late, missing breakfast, and then having to dart from class to keep from having a full-blown panic attack, Aria was feeling irritable and snippy. Now that she thought about it, she was certain she had forgotten to take her medication the night before. She remained silent, choosing to say nothing as opposed to saying something rude.

The server returned with their entrees. Her plate had what looked like fish dressed with spinach and mushrooms. His appeared to be beef or lamb and smelled of cumin and vinegar. She gave a strained smile to the server with a whispered 'thank-you' before placing her napkin in her lap and picking up her fork. As she took her first bite, he began cutting into the chunk of meat on his plate.

"How was class?" He asked in a weak attempt at small talk.

"Educational." She smirked.

He sighed and sat his fork down before fixing her with a cold glare. "Don't be rude, Aria."

"Or what? Why do you even care? You don't know me, and I certainly don't know you. I don't know how you got my mobile number, I don't know how you know where I live, or that I'm in university. I'm beginning to think you're stalking me like some twisted psychopath." Her voice was calm but sharp.

His eyes blazed in barely contained rage at her words. "I know where you live because I've seen you coming and going for the past ten months. I know you're in university because I picked up your textbook that day on the train and I simply assumed you were still attending. As for your mobile number, it's a simple matter of knowing the right people, and I do. I'm not stalking you, my dear paranoid Aria. I'm observing you. The meetings before now were purely coincidental, I assure you, but they did serve to cement my interest in you."

"I don't believe in coincidences."

"Fate, then."

Aria scoffed and looked away.

"Eat." He ordered as he resumed eating his own dish.

"I'm not very hungry." She lied, leaning back against the wall and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Eat." He repeated softly, a warning in his tone. "You're much too thin and I can hear your stomach betraying you from here."

With angry, jerking movements she picked up the fork and continued to eat.

"And Aria," He paused, waiting for her to look up at him. "Don't ever lie to me again."

The demanding attitude and the threat in his words were more than she could handle. She dropped her fork on her plate with a loud 'clank' and slid from behind the table, satchel in hand. Without bothering to look back at him she all but ran from the building, ignoring the stares and the whispered words of the other diners and the staff. Once outside she made her way quickly back to the tube station at Gloucester. Her mobile dinged as she descended to the station below, but she ignored it.

As she waited for the train to arrive, she paced the platform restlessly. Would he follow her? Had he already followed her? Would she be upset if he did? Her thoughts buzzed about in her mind like a hive of angry bees as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Again her mobile alert sounded. Again she ignored it. Was he telling her the truth, or was he working for Black Falcon?

Worse still, was he working for McGaffick? She had no way of knowing, though she thought she might know someone that would. Did she dare ask Mycroft to look in to it? She didn't even know the man's name, only his first initial and that was only in the event that he was being honest about any of it. When her mobile sounded for the third time, she ripped it from her pocket with a growl causing several people nearby to cast worried glances in her direction.

She unlocked her mobile and looked at the messages; all three were from him.

Your manners are lacking. We'll need to work on that. Come back and finish your lunch. – J

Now – J

I don't care for being ignored, Aria. You are trying my patience. – J

He was angry. She didn't need to see the dark look in his eyes to know that it was there. 'Good,' she thought, 'serves him right for thinking he can tell me what to do. I don't take orders anymore.'

The train arrived and Aria slipped in among the mass of people already inside. She took a seat towards the very back of the compartment as she responded to his texts.

Leave me alone. – A

Within seconds his reply came through.

I can't do that. – J

Why not? – A

You've upset me, pet. I can't just let that go. – J

I'm not your 'pet,' and that's just too bad. Maybe you should try harder. – A

She transferred to the central line at Notting Hill Gate and rode to Bond Street. When she got to street level she made her way south a few blocks to Brook Street and her flat. Her father was still at work, and she was still hungry. Out of spite, and in part to test a theory, she stopped for an order of fish and chips. As she unlocked the door to 85A, her mobile dinged and she grinned.

"Gotcha." She muttered as she entered the flat and locked the door behind her. She sat her satchel on the sofa and her lunch on the coffee table before toeing off her boots and stripping off her jumper. She dropped her mobile onto the coffee table and grabbed the remote to the telly before sitting down to enjoy her unhealthy meal with a sense of smug satisfaction.


	10. Your Gift Horse Sucks

For several days, Aria ignored any message the Irishman sent her. She didn't bother deleting them either though. She knew it was only a matter of time before they coincidentally ran into one another again, and she also knew that when they did she would most likely apologize for her behavior. While she wasn't sorry in the least for ignoring him or for walking out, she had been rude, and her father had raised her to have better manners than that.

It was the Saturday after their disastrous lunch date that Aria began to worry that he might not have such feelings. He had stopped texting her the day before which left her with a knot of anxiousness in the pit of her stomach. She had often heard that women are attracted to men that act, in some way at least, like their fathers. If that was certainly the case then his silence was most definitely cause for concern.

Her father and Mycroft were still in their pajamas, though Mycroft's unfaltering need for propriety meant he wore a dark red dressing gown and matching slippers along with his grey silk shirt and trousers. Her father was content with going barefoot, wearing a pair of dark green flannel pajama bottoms and a worn-out plain black tee. Both men were lounging in their armchairs before the fireplace, a cheery fire crackling in its hearth. Aria had only just stepped out of her room, her neon purple flannel pajamas rumpled from sleep and her hair a frizzy ball on the top of her head. She was still wiping the sleep from her eyes when a knock sounded from the door.

"I got it." She murmured as she padded down the hallway. She unlocked and opened the door only to find that no one was there. She stepped into the hallway and glanced around, but there was no sign of anyone. She shrugged and turned to go back inside when her foot kicked a small box that had been placed in front of their door. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands as she reentered the flat and closed the door.

There was nothing exceptionally odd about the package from the outside. It was about same size as a tea tin, and wrapped in plain brown paper and tied up with plain, rough twine. There was no card or note saying who it was for, or who had left it. She shook it gently and felt something shift inside. Not entirely awake, Aria simply shrugged again and shuffled back down the hallway. She tossed the parcel to her father as she walked past.

"What's this?" he asked, confused.

"Dunno. It was at the door. No name. I figure, if it's a bomb, it's for you. If it's something shiny though, I'll be more than happy to take it off your hands. Let me know, yeah?" She grinned as she closed her bedroom door. She stripped her pajamas off and tossed them in the direction of her bed before heading towards her bathroom and turning on the shower. She stepped in, relishing the feeling of the scalding water as it cascaded over her body. She thoroughly scrubbed her hair, the luxurious scent of coconuts and argan oil waking her up and relaxing her at the same time.

She scrubbed her skin with her favorite coconut body wash until her entire body was pink and slightly raw. She rinsed off the suds from the shampoo and soap before coating her hair in conditioner. She stood beneath the spray for several minutes, letting the conditioner do its job as she scrubbed her face. Once she was certain that all of the conditioner was out of her hair, she shut off the water and stepped out. Aria wiggled her toes against the thick pile of her bathmat as she pulled her towel from its hook and began to dry off.

Twenty minutes later, Aria emerged from her bedroom feeling refreshed and awake. Having nothing to do, she had opted for comfort over style and was wearing a pair of loosely fitting men's jeans, a bright red shirt with the Welsh flag on the back, and a mismatched pair of neon socks. Her hair was still damp and pulled back into a French braid, several pieces falling away to frame her face. She huffed at one piece in particular as it stabbed her in the eye.

"Problems?" Mycroft asked as he watched her. He had looked up as she had exited her bedroom and was now staring at her with amusement.

"Nothing a good haircut won't fix. I honestly didn't think I'd miss having it shorn, but my hair is just a mess otherwise." She replied, sitting in her father's armchair with her back against one arm and her legs over the other. The smell of bacon and French toast was slowly filling the flat and making her mouth water in anticipation.

The package from before was still unopened and sitting on the small table between the two chairs. She picked it up again and gave it another shake. There was definitely something inside, and her curiosity was getting the better of her. Before she could bother to over think her decision she untied the twine and began pulling the brown paper away. Beneath the paper was a plain brown box which she opened slowly. Reaching inside she pulled out a small bundle of bubble wrap and sat the box aside.

It took her several minutes to find the piece of tape that held the bundle together and to peel it away from the wrap. She unraveled it slowly, uncertain as to the contents. With one final tug the wrap came apart, spilling its contents into her lap. She picked up one of the items and brought it to her eyes before jumping up and cursing loudly. Before Mycroft or her father had the chance to say anything, she had gathered up the five items and shoved them back into the bubble wrap. She picked up the box and tipped it upside down, a plain white card falling into her waiting hand. It was the same card she had received with the necklace several months before, only this one bore no message aside from the dark green embossed J.

Aria growled as she crumpled the card in her hand and shoved the bundle into her pocket as she marched to her room and roughly pulled on her black Doc Martens. She grabbed her wallet and her mobile and left the room.

"I'm going out. Be back in a bit." She called as she slipped on her new riding jacket and gloves, grabbed her helmet and keys and left the flat, the door slamming shut behind her. She pulled out her mobile and typed in a quick message.

Where are you? –A

She didn't have to wait long for a response.

Trafalgar Square. Better hurry. – J

She jammed her helmet on her head and threw her leg over her motorbike. She turned the key, waited long enough for the traffic to clear and took off. She cut down side streets and through alleyways to avoid traffic on her way to the square, and she arrived in record time. She pulled to a stop just before the fountains, and scanned the crowds for any sign of him. When she finally spotted him, he smiled and waved before climbing onto his own motorbike and riding away. She followed behind him, trying to keep up but always managing to be two or three cars away.

When she finally managed to catch up with him, he was already parked and waiting for her, casually smoking a cigarette and leaning against his bike. She parked several meters away, turned off her bike and climbed off. She left her helmet hanging from the handle and made her way over to him. As she approached, he put out the cigarette and began walking away. Again, she followed. His pace was slow and lazy, his Belstaff shifting with the sharp winter breeze, and she quickly caught up to him though remained a step behind.

They walked in silence for several blocks before he made a sharp turn into an alley and disappeared through a steel door. She hesitated only a second before pursuing him. Inside the building was dusty, as though it hadn't been used for much of anything in ages, and an overwhelming scent of mold and mildew permeated the air. Light filtered in from several broken windows, but it did little to chase away the darkness that seemed to swallow up a large portion of the warehouse-like room.

The loud groan of metal startled her and she looked around for the source of the noise. He stood above her on a catwalk, leaning against the railing with his elbows and looking bored. Even from such a distance, Aria could feel his inky gaze on her and it made her skin crawl. She located the rickety staircase that led up and took them two at a time. She was sick of chasing him, and sick of whatever game he was playing with her. When she made it to the top, he was still standing there, half shrouded in shadows, with a Cheshire grin on his face. She slowed her pace and walked towards him. If he made any move to walk away she would gladly take him down.

"Did you get my gift?" He asked innocently as he watched her.

She dug her hand into her pocket and pulled out the bundle. She let it fall open in her palm, exposing the contents. Inside laid five spent shell casings. "This is your idea of a gift?"

He smiled and shrugged, his head oscillating ever so slightly. It reminded her vaguely of a reptile. She picked up the casings and stared at them for a second before throwing them in his face. She didn't care how he had gotten them, or how he even knew about her time in the military. She had spent enough time around the Holmes brothers to know that some people just had ways of getting what they wanted. What had really made her vision run red had been his mocking of her, of her past, of her pain.

In his moment of surprise, she dove at him, tackling him around the midsection in a move that would have made her father proud. They tumbled to the metal grating that served as a catwalk, both struggling to gain an upper hand. They were fairly well matched, being of similar heights and weights, but he lacked the one thing she excelled at: training. She had him pinned to the catwalk, his arms firmly pressed to his sides by her thighs. She landed several blows to his torso, followed by a quick jab to his right jaw. As she pulled back to strike again, he managed to free one hand and wrap it around her throat.

He was stronger than she had given him credit for. His fingers dug into the flesh of her neck and pressed against her trachea. She brought her fist down on his wrist again and again, and just as the edges of her vision began to blur, she knocked his hand away. Gasping for breath, she was caught off guard as he shoved her backwards. As she stumbled, his foot connected squarely with her abdomen, knocking what little breath she had from her lungs and sending her sprawling to the grating.

Seconds later, he was standing over her, blood trickling from his lip, with one arm wrapped firmly around his ribs. She rolled to the side as he made to kick her in the face, but she misjudged the amount of space she had. She only just managed to grab ahold of the catwalk as she tumbled over the edge. She tried to pull herself up, but her gloves were slick and offered no friction against the metal. She was quickly losing her grip. She let go with one hand, bringing it to her mouth to pull the glove off with her teeth. She let it drop to hard concrete a good two stories below and grabbed at the grating again. She repeated the process with the other hand and managed to gain some purchase.

The hard steel was biting into her hands, ripping at the flesh of her palms and fingers and drawing blood. She managed to get the upper half of her torso up before she slipped. The move jarred her and a loud crack sounded in the near silence, echoing in the darkness. She bit back a scream as her left arm fell to her side, useless. It had dislocated her shoulder and left her dangling in the air by the very tips of the fingers of her right hand. She felt herself slipping, losing what grip she had.

Just as her fingers slid from the steel, two hands grabbed at her arm. She looked up to see him leaning over the edge, his feet braced against one of the beams that held the catwalk in place. Agonizing pain ripped through her as he pulled her to safety. She slumped against the grating, heaving and trying her best not to cry. She held her left arm close to her chest as she lay there with her eyes closed, trying to push the pain from her mind.

"Shhhh…"He whispered in her ear as he pulled her up against him. She tried to move away, but every motion jarred her arm and a fresh wave of agony washed over her. He sat with his back against the large I-beam, holding her tightly against his chest. His breathing was labored and he winced slightly as her right elbow dug into his ribs. After several long minutes he began to chuckle, the sound reverberating through her entire body.

"You're certainly not dull, are you?" He said, his voice washing over her. She wanted to respond, to say something clever and witty, but she didn't have the strength. She tried to take a deep breath to steady her pounding heart, but it hurt like hell.

She took a moment to make a mental assessment of her injuries. So far as she could tell, she had a dislocated shoulder, possibly a cracked collarbone, several cracked ribs, and a bruised trachea along with a dozen or so lacerations to her palms. She had had worse certainly. With great effort, Aria pushed away from him. She grabbed ahold of a section of railing and pulled herself to her feet, but had to stop to catch her breath. She could feel her body crashing as the adrenaline left her system. If she didn't leave now, she had no chance of getting to a hospital, or more preferably the flat, anytime soon.

She turned and took a step towards the stairs, but she stumbled. An arm caught her around the middle before she could fall. He stood beside her and slightly behind, pulling her right arm from the railing and up over his head to rest across his shoulders. Grudgingly she leaned against him, and they slowly made their way to the stairs and down to the main floor. He directed her towards the door, but she stopped and turned back towards the center of the room.

"I need my gloves." She protested weakly.

"I'll buy you a new pair." He said, and she knew he was rolling his eyes.

"That is a new pair. Please…"she didn't finish as he let her go and helped her over to the wall. Without a word he walking into the darkness returning a moment later with her gloves in hand. He inspected them for a second before shoving them into one of his pockets and resuming his position beside her. He led her out of the building and into the blinding mid-morning light. A harsh wind nipped at her exposed skin and seemed to sink beneath her clothing and deep into her core.

By the time they made it back to the main street she was shivering violently. They both ignored the stares of passers-by as they hobbled back to where they had parked their motor bikes. She wanted to tell him to stop, that she wasn't feeling well, that her vision was fading in and out, but she couldn't find the energy. As they approached the bikes, Aria's world went black and she collapsed.


	11. Flashbacks and Lost Friends

Aria groaned as she cracked her eyes open. Her head felt as though it was full of cotton and her body ached dully. The room was dark and her vision was still clouded from sleep, but she could just make out the silhouette of a person standing off to the right of the bed she was on. She felt as though her body was on fire, and sweat coated her skin. Her hair was loose and stuck to her cheeks and neck making her itchy and uncomfortable.

As her mind cleared she became aware that something was binding her arms and legs. She whimpered as she struggled against the bindings, but it was of little use. Her anxiety was skyrocketing, warning of an oncoming panic attack.

"You're going to hurt yourself if you keep that up." The words filled the darkened room, echoing strangely in her ears. It was the Irishman. She tugged once more at whatever held her wrists, the material sliding across her skin with almost no friction. She would never be able to get them off on her own.

"P-please…untie me. I can't – I can't …" her words faded away. She squeezed her eyes shut and began counting to ten in an effort to calm herself. When that didn't work she tried counting to twenty. The mattress shifted as the Irishman sat beside her. She flinched away as he brushed her hair back, his fingers pausing briefly on her pulse point. Without a word, he rose from the bed and moved away. She heard him moving things about and rustling some sort of plastic for several minutes before he returned. He switched on a bedside lamp momentarily blinding Aria.

She looked away, her eyes shut tight, until she felt a pinch in her arm. She glanced back to find a needle in her bicep and watched as he pressed down on the plunger of the attached syringe, pushing a clear liquid into her body. She looked at him questioningly as her eyes grew heavy and her body became numb.

"What…"talking was becoming difficult; her mind was sluggish and her tongue felt thick in her mouth.

"Shhh…"he hissed. She felt his hand brush against her neck once more as she succumbed to the drug he had given her.

X-X-X-X-X

When she awoke again, Aria was still bound though this time it was with thick, rough steel shackles around her wrists and neck. She was no longer lying on a soft mattress and covered in warm, heavy blankets. Instead, she was naked and lying face down on a dirt floor with sharp rocks digging into her stomach, thighs, and cheek. The air was thick with humidity and oppressively hot. A layer of sweat and grit coated her raw flesh.

She shifted, hoping to ease the pressure on her left thigh and by extension the pain, but the movement only served to grind more dirt into the flayed skin. She wanted to cry, to scream, to do anything more than just lie there, but she had no energy left. Her throat was raw from screaming, and her tears had long since dried up. She whimpered as a cough racked her body, her mouth filling with the coppery taste of her own blood. 'Maybe they punctured a lung…maybe it'll fill up with blood and I'll drown to death. That would be nice.' She mused.

The rusted iron door to her cage was wrenched open with a deafening screech and she cringed away from it. She knew what was coming, knew she should fight, or struggle, but she simply didn't care anymore. Maybe if they thought she had given up they'd just leave her alone to die in peace. Her shackles were removed, replaced with large, calloused hands.

She was hauled to her feet and made to walk. Every time she stumbled, a steel-toed boot caught the back of one of her knees. They were saying something, but she couldn't understand them. 'They sound so far away…' she thought, "like…I'm standing at the end of a tunnel…Maybe I'll get hit by a train.'

Her thoughts were jumbled, and often filled with wishes of death and the peace that would follow it. At least until she ended up in Hell. After everything she'd done she knew that was the only option she had. There would be no redemption for a soul as tarnished as hers; not that she'd want it if there was. She didn't regret any of it. The blood that stained her hands was a mark of pride in her eyes. She had killed, yes, but she had killed murderers, rapists, terrorists; she had killed so that others would live and that was a noble act, wasn't it?

She was jerked roughly back to reality as the men behind her came to a halt. Another rusted door was opened heralded by another cringe-worthy screech of metal on metal. She was push forward once more and into the room beyond. One dim lightbulb lit the space casting shadows over everything it's light couldn't touch.

A metal table sat in the middle of the room, directly beneath the weak bulb and she was made to climb onto it before being pushed down and restrained. Thick leather straps enclosed her wrists, ankles, waist, neck, and forehead. She heard the door shut and a sense of icy dread filled her, weighing her down like rocks in the pit of her stomach. She began to shake uncontrollably.

"This would all end if you'd just admit to your crimes." The voice was cold and gravely, and Aria knew who it belonged to without even needing to look. It took every ounce of strength she possessed to respond with the same answer she had been telling them all for what felt like eternity.

"I-I haven't..I'm n-not guilty.." Instead of the growl it had been during the first few weeks, the words came out weak as her voice faltered and cracked. His only response was to laugh cruelly before waving a bottle before her eyes. Her jaw clenched, but she didn't move. He uncapped the bottle and slowly poured the contents over her face, stomach, and arms. The scent of disinfectant assaulted her and made her retch. She twitched as the countless wounds that littered her flesh burned.

"Last chance…"he mocked, dangling the bottle above her left thigh. She took a deep breath and steeled herself for what she knew was to come. "You're stubborn. I used to like that about you."

He upended the bottle over the fresh wound where her tattoo had once been and her world exploded. She thrashed about like a fish on dry land as her vision began to fade around the edges. A guttural scream was ripped from her body, and she was certain that she would have vomited if she hadn't been starved for the last two weeks. Sinister laughter filled her ears as the world around her faded away.

X-X-X-X-X

Someone was arguing though she couldn't understand what was being said. Two familiar voices echoed around her, through her. Her body vibrated with them as her pulse beat in her ears. She was warm, too warm, but she was dry and the bed she was on was soft. Instantly, her mind was on high alert. It had to be a trick of some kind. Some new form of torture meant to drive her that much closer to insanity. The words became less garbled as her sleep-addled brain began to clear. She did indeed know the voices though she could only place a face to one.

In her mind she saw him clearly; shorn blond hair, crystalline blue eyes, and a sharp jaw. A carefree smile graced his lips, one that was only ever meant for her. In her memory, he was dressed in desert fatigues, a helmet on his head. His jacket was tied around his waist, his tight black tee showing off his well-built physique and the black falcon that decorated his right bicep. His rifle, an AWM 338 with heavy customizations, was resting on the ground beside him as they lay in the sand, wasting time and waiting for their target to make his move. It was one of her first missions as a new recruit to Black Falcon and officially he was her SO. Unofficially, he had become like a brother to her, keeping an eye on her, giving her tips, and keeping the other team members from harassing her.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you!?" He yelled.

"What was I supposed to do? This," the other man paused, "wasn't in the plan."

"Why is she even here? What the fuck did you do to her?"

"She attacked me and then decided to roll off a catwalk from two stories up. Don't give me that look, Sebastian. I pulled her back up. It was her own fault she ended up with a dislocated shoulder, a cracked collarbone, and her hands all torn to ribbons." The man growled. "Made me go and get her gloves…then she had the audacity to faint on me."

He was cut off by something, and the distinct sound of someone being kneed in the stomach and wheezing met her ears. Silence filled the room once more, broken only by the sound of footsteps on the wooden floor. Aria whimpered as the bed beneath her shifted and deft fingers began working at the bindings around her wrists and then her ankles. She wanted to open her eyes, to see her Sebastian, but she knew the moment she did that the dream would end and she would be back in that cage again.

Calloused hands tugged at her pulling her firmly against the person they belonged to. Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling the blankets snug around her frame, and he began to rock her gently back and forth.

"I'm here, Ari. I've got you. You're safe, I promise. I won't let that idiot hurt you again." Sebastian's voice whispered in her ear. She struggled against him for a moment, knowing in her heart that it wasn't real, that it was all some sort of trap, until he started to hum softly. With her ear pressed to his chest she felt every note of the familiar melody and her body began to relax as she drifted back to sleep once more.

X-X-X-X-X

Sunlight filtered into the spacious bedroom as Aria awoke again. She was sore and stiff, and a little bit groggy. A heavy arm was wrapped around her waist as she used the person beneath her as a human pillow. Her head was firmly wedged between the person's arm and chest, his heartbeat steady in her ear. She lay there for a long while listening to it until the person beneath her began to stir. She moved away a bit to look at them, joy and shock mixing inside of her as she realized who the person was.

"Morning, princess." He grinned roguishly as he yawned and stretched. He was still fully dressed, though his boots had been kicked off at some point, and his slightly shaggy hair was ruffled from sleep.

"S-Seb…"Aria whispered, afraid that it was just a figment of her imagination. He smiled again.

"In the flesh."

"What…why are you here? Where is here?" She asked in a rush.

"Technically, it's my flat, but James uses it more than I do these days. I just got back from Africa last night to find you tied up in my bed having some god-awful nightmare and screaming your pretty head off, and James pacing the floor in the sitting room, ready to rip his hair out." He chuckled a bit at that.

"I'm-"She started to apologize.

"Nope. Don't you dare. You have no reason to apologize to me, Ari. I'm honestly just glad he brought you here. Normally he would have just let someone fall and walk away while they bleed to death on the floor." He shrugged.

Aria had a hard time connecting that image of the Irishman with the one she had met. If that was his usual behavior, then what made her so special? Her thoughts were interrupted as the bedroom door opened and the man in question entered. He was casually dressed in well-fitting jeans and a plain white tee. His feet were bare and his hair was almost artfully disheveled, falling over his forehead and into his eyes. Stubble graced his face, making him look much less like the suave, elegant man she had seen last. It made her wonder how long she had been out.

Aria became very aware of the fact that she was wearing little more that her undergarments. She sat up and pulled the blankets tighter around her as a blush rose to her cheeks. She glanced around for her clothes, but didn't see them. The Irishman, or rather, James as Sebastian had called him, watched her closely as he moved to the closet on the far right wall. He opened the door to reveal a large walk-in closet.

He pulled out a drawer next to the door and rummaged about for a moment before finding what he was looking for. He made his way to her side of the bed and tossed down a pair of black silk pajama bottoms and a grey, threadbare shirt. He stared at her a moment, his expression unreadable, before heading back to the door and into the sitting room beyond.

"Well, that was awkward. Why don't you go take a shower? It'll help with the stiffness. I'll grab you some aspirin, and then start on," he glanced at his watch, "brunch. Waffles?"

Aria couldn't help but laugh as she nodded. He stood up and helped her out of the bed, catching her as she stumbled forward. She wrapped her arms around his midsection and squeezed as well as she could before whispering a soft 'thank-you' and walking slowly towards the door he indicated was the en suite.

Thirty minutes later, Aria emerged from the bedroom in the clothes she had been given. The shower and the aspirin had help immensely, and now she was realizing how hungry she was. The smell of fresh waffles and bacon greeted her as she walked into the sitting room, running her fingers through her damp hair before pulling it back into a messy bun. She followed the scents into the kitchen to find both men standing near the range, talking quietly.

Sebastian was pulling the bacon from its pan as James leaned against the worktop next to him, a half-eaten apple in his hand. Both men fell silent as she cleared her throat and announced her presence. Sebastian turned to look at her and grinned widely, a plate of bacon in hand, and nodded towards the table. A plate of waffles sat in the middle, flanked by butter and syrup, and surrounded by a bowl of fresh fruit and the bacon. A teapot and coffee carafe sat off to the side along with a carafe of orange juice. There were three place settings, and Sebastian had taken the one on the far right side. Years of training wouldn't allow him to sit with his back to the doorway.

James took the seat directly across from him, leaving Aria to sit in the only remaining chair between the two of them. She sat silently until her stomach growled in protest and she rolled her eyes with a sigh.

"I'm just going to get this out of the way; this is incredibly awkward, but I'm incredibly hungry, so can we all just eat and stare at each other later?" She asked as politely as she could manage before helping herself to the plate of waffles. The other two followed suit and before long they had fallen into an almost comfortable, or at least somewhat less awkward, silence as they enjoyed their meal.


	12. Bad Luck and Slip-Ups

Most of the meal was spent in silence as they each enjoyed their food. Aria didn't even realize how blissfully content she was until she heard a snort of laughter from her right. She glanced up to see Sebastian looking intently at his plate, and she would have believed that she was hearing things if the corner of his mouth hadn't twitched ever so slightly. Everyone had a tell or two, and she knew all of Sebastian's. He was trying very hard to keep a straight face, and he would have succeeded if he hadn't met her gaze. Catching sight of her slightly perplexed look, his stone mask cracked and he gave in to the laughter that was building up inside his chest.

"What?" She asked, taking a bite of her bacon. The flavor exploded on her tongue as her mouth filled with the greasy, fatty pork.

"You," he replied as his mirth subsided. He took a heavy drink of his coffee before continuing, "You act like you've never eaten before."

Aria shrugged as a blush crept across her cheeks, "I may have missed your waffles."

"Just my waffles?" He asked, feigning a pout.

"I missed you, of course, but mostly I just missed your cooking." She winked as she took a bite of the waffle she had covered with butter, thick syrup and strawberries.

He glared at her as he picked up the remaining waffles from the center of the table and placed the plate far out of her reach. Aria returned the glare for a second before changing tactics knowing exactly how to win this battle. She heaved a sigh and looked down at her plate for a moment, willing her eyes to tear up and pushing her bottom lip out slightly in a pout. When she looked back at him, and her eyes were wide and watery and her bottom lip trembled. They remained this way for a long moment, him glaring and her pouting and ready to cry; until he growled and moved the plate back. In an instant her eyes lightened, her tears dried up, and a large smile graced her lips.

"You…you're evil. How the hell do you do that?" He was still glaring at her, but it lacked any real malice.

"I'm highly trained in getting what I want. It helps that I know all of your weaknesses." She giggled as she grabbed the plate and moved it to sit in the clear space between her and James. She ignored the look of contempt on the blond man's face and continued to eat. She looked to her left as she took a sip of her juice and was startled to find that James was staring at herself and Sebastian.

His gaze constantly shifted from curious to jealous to crazed. She was a bit taken aback by the tension that seemed to roll off of him. He appeared outwardly at ease, but the grip he had on the handle of his coffee mug belied his inner turmoil. His gaze, analytical and deconstructive, fell back to her once more and she swallowed hard in an attempt to dislodge the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. She could almost feel him trying to pick apart her brain.

Aria felt her cheeks burn and she wanted nothing more than to look away, but she couldn't. The lump in her throat seemed to swell and she was certain she had forgotten how to breathe again. Why did this always happen? He was just a man; she had dealt with more than a few of those over the years and she had never felt less in control than she did when he looked at her the way he was. Her heart beat thrummed in her ears and her stomach felt fuzzy.

Unconscious of her actions, Aria reached up to touch the pendant that rested against her chest. It felt cold and heavy against her skin, almost like the shackle she had worn for so long. With that thought she gasped and stood, the chair scraping against the floor as she fled the room. She made her way back to the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her and hoping neither of them would follow. Her heart was racing for a very different reason as images flitted through her mind that she had hoped had been buried so deep they would never surface again.

She stumbled towards the bathroom, catching herself on the edge of the basin before she could fall to the floor. She turned on the tap and splashed her face with cold water as reality began to bleed away and her memories began to take over.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with me?" she whispered as she stared at her own reflection. Her eyes were wide and panicked and her skin was flushed and clammy. Breathing was a chore and her vision was starting to swim. She screamed as she threw her fist into the glass. Cracks spread across its surface and she laughed coldly. At least now her reflection was as broken as she was.

Her fist burned as she ran it under the cool water, rinsing away blood and fragments of glass. A knock sounded on the door but she ignored it as she pulled a dark navy hand towel from its ring by the basin and pressed it to her wounded knuckles. With a deep, calming breath she opened the door and pushed past the person on the other side without looking to see who it was.

"Where are my clothes?" she asked. Her voice was flat and cold even to her own ears. A hand reached out to grab her own, but she jerked away. Something between a growl and a chuckle filled her ears as the person roughly took her by the arm and turned her around. She flinched, her eyes squeezing shut as her body tensed, waiting for the other person to strike. The gentle touch that graced her cheek was not what she had expected.

Tentatively she opened her eyes. Guarded, emotionless dark eyes met her gaze as he cupped her cheek. His grip was gentle but solid. Aria knew that she stood little chance of moving away until he decided to let her go. She honestly couldn't fathom a reason why she would want to do such a thing, but a voice in the back of her mind was screaming at her to flee.

'Self-preservation,' she thought, 'my mind knows it's damaged. It knows I'm fucked up. It's trying to protect itself from something it doesn't understand.' The thought flew through her mind in less than a second, but it registered with her consciousness. She was scared. No, she was terrified. It never ended well for her when she chose to trust someone, or let them in. She always ended up getting hurt, or left, or both.

Tears prickled at the backs of her eyes and she did her best to blink them away, but they fell regardless. Once she started Aria found it impossible to hold them back anymore. She had been doing so well with her medications and her therapy. She had worked through so many of her issues; only to find that she still had so very many to go. She felt as though she had reached the summit of a mountain only to find Mount Everest looming overhead.

She cried silently, the pain in her hand forgotten as he pressed the palm of his free hand against her other cheek, his fingers curling in her hair as he pulled her closer. She hadn't even noticed that he had pulled it from its elastic confines. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before kissing each cheek and finally her lips. She pushed her palms against his chest, intending to push him away, to yell and rant and rail at him. Instead her fingers clutched at his shirt and pulled him closer as she returned the kiss.

His tongue swept across her bottom lip, asking permission that she readily gave. She could taste the salt of her tears on his lips as his tongue delved into her mouth. His kiss reminded her of his personality, or at least what she knew of it. It was gentle, but demanding and dominating. It promised so much without promising anything at all, and she knew then that she would give him anything he asked for so long as he never stopped kissing her.

She whimpered as he pulled away; both of them breathing somewhat erratically. His gaze was still guarded, but a heat flared in their depths and he smirked at her protest. He stepped back and took her injured hand, examining it closely for a moment before shaking his head and turning towards the bathroom.

"Sit." He said as he disappeared through the doorway. She did as he instructed, her mind too numb to do anything else, and took a seat on a bench at the foot of the bed. He returned with a roll of gauze and some tape; dropping them onto the seat beside her. He held out his hand expectantly and she placed her injured one on top of it. He methodically picked out the few remaining shards of glass before wrapping her hand and securing the bandage. When he had finished he let her hand drop as he stepped closer to her.

He reached out again, his fingers curling in the hair at the back of her head before tightening almost painfully. He tugged at it forcing her to look up at him. Only when he was certain that he had her attention did he speak.

"I don't like that you keep running away from me, Aria. I'm also not very fond of your recklessness, or how little you care about your own wellbeing. If I ever find that you've done something so incredibly idiotic again, I'll gladly show you what real pain is." His voice was soft and low, but the threat was very clear. Any other time Aria would have been furious. She knew what real pain was, and she didn't appreciate his attempt at intimidating her. However, her mind was still somewhat clouded and her body was still buzzing as a result of the kiss they had shared. Instead of slapping him like she wanted to do, she merely nodded.

"Say it." He whispered, his lips only an inch from her own. She could feel the heat of his breath on her skin as he spoke. She swallowed roughly, her mouth suddenly dry as her eyes darted between the dark, heated pools of his eyes and his slightly parted, somewhat swollen lips.

"Fine. Yes, a-alright." She stuttered. She gasped, more from surprise than pain, as his fist tightened in her hair.

"Yes, what?" His tongue darted over his lips, leaving behind a trail of moisture. His head oscillated slightly, reminding her again of a reptile, or maybe a dragon was a more apt description. She knew what he was after, and the implications of it shocked her. Was he really trying to dominate her so thoroughly? The look in his eyes told her yes, and that he would do whatever it took to achieve his goal. He tugged at her hair once more.

"Yes, sir!" She gasped and he crushed his lips against hers once more. This kiss was different that the other two. The others had been like a gentle heat that warmed her; this one was a blaze of fire that consumed her entirely. Aria felt as though her entire being was about to explode as he claimed her mouth with his own. Her body vibrated with the force of it and heat pooled in her stomach as her heart tried to escape from her chest. His free hand wrapped gently around her throat, a clear warning that he had not been bluffing before. She eagerly kissed him back, nipping at his bottom lip as he pulled away and earning her a growl in response.

He stared at her, his gaze once again searching for something she didn't understand, until he pulled away completely and straightened. When he spoke, it was in a bored, almost lazy tone. "You should get back home. I'm sure your father's worried about you."

His ability to change demeanor so quickly was still somewhat unsettling, but she was slowly getting used to it. She nodded and looked away, suddenly feeling ridiculously shy. She was still wearing his clothes, and part of her wanted to keep doing so, but she knew her father would have something to say about it. She was certain he would have plenty to say as it was.

"I, um…I need my clothes." Her voice was weak and shaky. He nodded and left the room. She was about to follow him when he reappeared, her clothes in a neat stack in his hands. He sat them on the bed and moved to the closet. He returned with her boots setting them at her feet. She waited, expecting him to leave her to change in peace, but he simply leaned against one of the posts of the bed, watching her.

"Can I have some privacy?" she asked.

"No." he replied lazily. She nodded and stood up, stripping off the clothes he had loaned her. She stepped into her jeans, trying to ignore the blush that was covering most of her exposed flesh. She could feel his eyes on her, noting every scar and freckle. She was buttoning her jeans when he spoke again.

"Who did that?" His voice was gentle, but she could tell he was struggling to keep it that way.

"It doesn't matter." She replied, not sure if she was trying to convince him or herself that her words were true.

"Who?" His response was sharp and she heard him move closer his bare feet padding against the hardwood floor. She slipped her socks on, and reached for her shirt only to find that it wasn't there. She turned to search for it, thinking it had fallen to the floor and ignored his question. She really didn't want to talk about her past, not with him, not now.

"Aria," his tone was sharp, warning her that his temper was deteriorating. She huffed and turned to look at him, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Where's my shirt?"

"I had to cut it off of you." He said shortly. "Now, tell me who did that."

She grabbed his shirt and pulled it back over her head, silently thrilled that she would have to keep it. She moved around him and slipped her feet into her boots before propping them up on the bench one at a time to tie them. Finished, she shook out her hair out and turned to head for the door. His fingers curled around her bicep, stopping her in her tracks and turning her around to face him in one move.

His eyes were hard, his jaw clenched tight as he looked at her, demanding an answer without saying a word. With a very over dramatic huff, Aria shoved her hands into her pockets and rolled her eyes.

"I spent three months in detainment before I was dishonorably discharged. As part of my reprimand, my CO thought it would be amusing to let every member of the team have a go at me. I did what I know was right, and instead of being reassured by the people I trusted, I was stripped, shackled, starved and tortured. Every mark you see was caused by someone I once thought of family. As for who did it, you're looking at her. I could have stopped it at any time if I had just confessed to crimes I was never guilty of, but I chose not to. I did this." Her voice was distant and cold again as she jerked her arm from his grasp and headed out into the sitting room.

Aria found Sebastian sitting on the sofa as he flipped through channels on the telly. He stood as she entered the room, eyeing her with concern. She gave him a halfhearted smile and hugged him tightly before stepping back.

"You heading home?" he asked.

"Yeah. Dad's probably got Mycroft checking every CCTV feed in London looking for me. I'm going to have a hell of a time explaining everything to him." She shrugged.

"Well, you know where I am if you need a quick getaway." His laughter made her grin.

"Actually, I have no idea where here is."

"Oh! Wow, I'm an idiot. Conduit Street. I took a cab and picked up your bike for you. It's downstairs. Not that you have far to go, but…" he trailed off.

"You…rode my bike? You didn't scratch her, did you?"

"I'm not that stupid." He scratched at the back of his neck.

"Good. So, Conduit Street? Really?" She was only about four or five block from home, then.

"Yeah. I remembered you telling me that your parents had split, and I saw your dad moving in one day while I was out looking for a flat. Figured I'd take this one and try to keep an eye on him for you while you were away. I was kind of shocked to see you home so soon, and then I heard about the discharge..." his blue eyes filled with sadness as he looked at her, "I'm so sorry, Ari. I should have stayed. I should have kept you safe. I know what they do to people that fail. I'm surprised as hell that you're even still alive."

"Don't apologize, Seb. You never could have known what was going to happen. I did this to myself, and even you couldn't have protected me from it. To be honest, I almost wasn't alive. If they had kept me much longer I would have died. I was ready to die. Some days I still am." She laughed, but it held no humor. She hugged him again before turning to leave the flat.

"I put my number in your mobile while you were out. If you need me…" Sebastian said as he followed her to the foyer. She nodded as she opened the door her gaze moving towards the other end of the hallway where James was leaning against the wall watching them. The look on his face was dark, but otherwise indecipherable. She nodded to him and with a tight smile that didn't quite meet her eyes she slipped through the door and down the stairs to the street.


	13. Explainations

"Where the hell have you been?"

Aria cringed as she shut the door to 85A behind her. Her father came around the corner from the parlor, his clothes wrinkled, hair unkempt, and stubble on his jaw. Her body still ached dully and she wanted nothing more than to take a long hot bath and sleep, but she knew that wasn't likely to happen. Taking a deep breath to calm her thoughts, Aria trudged down the hallway towards her father. She was surprised to find that he was the only one there.

"Sorry," she muttered, already feeling like a child being chastised.

"You – you're sorry!? I've called you, texted you, and you couldn't be bothered to respond, but you're sorry! That just makes it all better then, yeah?" He said sarcastically. The mixture of confusion, worry, and fear were etched so deeply on his face that she couldn't even look at him. "I was worried sick, Aria! You left out of here in fit, and said you'd be back later. It's been two bloody days without as much as a peep from you!"

"I met a bloke…" She started, but she wasn't quite sure how to finish.

"Yeah, I know. I had Mycroft looking for you. Found you, too. When he told me, I thought, 'No. My daughter would never hang around with that sort.' Then he showed me this," He shoved a photo under her nose. It was in black and white, and the quality was rather grainy, but it was clear enough. It was a picture of her and James entering the warehouse. He shoved another picture at her this time of them leaving the warehouse. From the angle of the camera, it seemed as though they were simply sharing an intimate embrace, but looks were deceptive.

"It's not what you thi-"

"What I think isn't really the issue. Do you even know who this man is? Did he tell you his name? Did he mention that he's a criminal, or that he kidnapped John and tried to kill Sherlock? Did he happen to mention any of that?" His jaw was clenched, rage flaring in his brown eyes.

Aria didn't know what to say. Sure James was a bit cold, and alright, she could admit that he was rather harsh and maybe just the slightest bit barmy at times, but then, he had saved her life. He had taken care of her while she was unconscious. The James she knew, and the man her father described didn't sound at all like the same person.

"Dad, if you would just -"

"This man is a psychopath, Aria! He's dangerous. He's just trying to use you. He probably knows everything about you, all of your weaknesses, your past…your connection to Sherlock. That is all he's after, Aria. He is obsessed with Sherlock in the worst possible way, and he will use whatever means necessary to get what he wants. What he wants is Sherlock, dead. If he has to trick you into thinking he cares in order to get that, he will."

Aria shook her head, her gaze hardening as she stared at her father. Her tone was low and cold when she spoke. "If you'd let me talk, I'd tell you that this man, the man you claim is nothing more than a heartless lunatic, saved my life. He didn't have to, he could have let me fall, but he didn't. He could have left me, injured and unconscious on the floor of some godforsaken warehouse on the South Bank, but he didn't. He took me somewhere safe, he patched me up, and he took care of me."

"That is why I never replied. I've spent the past two days unconscious while some man I barely know took care of me, and maybe that's a bit peculiar, but what the sodding hell in my life isn't these days? It's because of James that I'm even alive, so I can't even find it in myself to be too awfully upset with him." She threw the pictures back at him and turned towards her room when his hand caught her by the elbow and turned her back around.

He seemed to have just noticed the state she was in, because his anger dulled quickly, replaced by concern once more. He took her hand in his own and held it up as he pulled back the bandages that covered her palm. Beneath it, the flesh was raw with several deep lacerations running widthwise across it. The wounds had been cleaned and treated, then covered and left to heal. Her left shoulder was badly bruised and slightly swollen, the edges of the dark blue and purple markings peeking out over the collar and below the sleeve of the shirt she wore. A light yellowing ringed her throat where his hand had wrapped around it in their skirmish, and she knew that a fairly large bruise covered her abdomen where he had kicked her.

"What the hell did he do to you?" Her father growled.

"I attacked him. He was just defending himself. He's sporting his fair share of battle wounds too if that makes you feel any better. The shoulder and the palms are my fault for being reckless; he had nothing to do with them."

"You attacked him?" His eyes widened in shock.

"He pissed me off. He was trying to get under my skin and I let him. That package the other day was from him. Shell casings. My shell casings. I still don't know how he got ahold of them. Though, to be fair, I was somewhat rude to him a few weeks back. He did try to warn me that he didn't take well to bad manners." She had muttered the last bit, more to herself than to her father.

"You've met him before then." It wasn't a question, but she felt the need to answer it.

"Only a few times. I ran into him in Hyde Park back in September, quite literally. Then we met again on the Tube a few weeks after. He helped me find some decorations for Halloween, and then I met him when I went for a walk on New Year's Eve. A few weeks ago, he sent me a text and I met him for lunch; I was having a bad day, anxiety attack and all that, and he was being an arse. I was rude and walked out. That's the gist of it, really."

"You're telling me you had a lunch date with Jim Moriarty? And you attacked him?"

Aria shrugged. She honestly didn't understand what the problem was. "Dad, I don't know what's happened between him and the lot of you, but he's a nice bloke as far as I'm concerned. Sure he's got his issues, he's a bit demanding and maybe a little neurotic, but I'm hardly perfect."

He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "You can't be serious. I'm telling you he's mental, he pissed you off so badly that you were willing to attack him, and you're still going to stand here and tell me he's a 'nice bloke'? I don't give a damn how messed up you think you are, Aria. You deserve so much better than him. You're not to see him again."

Her gaze hardened and she could almost imagine steam pouring from her ears and nostrils as she growled. "I'm a grown woman. Hell, I'm a trained assassin for god's sake. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and you, sir, are not allowed to tell me who I can and cannot see."

"Really? It sure doesn't look to me like you can take care of yourself. You just told me you almost died, Aria. If that qualifies as taking care of yourself, then you are absolute rubbish at it. And so long as you live in this house, under my roof, I bloody well can tell you not to see him again. That man, and I'm using the term loosely, has admitted that he's a criminal. He calls himself a consulting criminal; how many more red flags do you need to get the picture?"

Aria remained silent not entirely certain what to say. Maybe her dad was right. Maybe James wasn't as good of a person as he had led her to believe. Then again, he hadn't led her to believe anything. She wanted to believe that he was good because he had been nice, and because he had saved her. At the same time, he had hurt her, threatened her, and essentially kidnapped her. Those weren't the actions of a good person. The why did she feel so drawn to him? Could it be that she was attracted to him because he wasn't good?

She had little choice in the matter, it seemed. She fought back a yawn as she nodded to her father. "Fine. I won't see him again. Does that make you happy? Is that what you want to hear?"

Her tone was clipped and angry, and her father sighed. "I'd like to hear that you understand why I'm doing this."

"Well, good luck with that."

"Aria, please. I'm just trying to protect you. I failed you once before, and I'll be damned if I'm going to do it again. Not when I have a chance to stop you from getting hurt. Anyone else in the world, love, and I wouldn't care, but not Jim Moriarty. I can't risk losing you to him, and I know that if you keep this up, if you fall for his tricks, that's exactly what's going to happen." The look on his face, the utter desperation in his voice, nearly broke her heart.

"Dad, I love you and I know that you're just trying to look out for me. Don't blame yourself for what's happened to me. None of it was ever your fault."

"I failed in keeping my daughter safe. Regardless of whose fault it was that it happened, I still failed. I know you felt that way, too. You never said it, not to me, but I could see it in your eyes for months after you got back. It's not there anymore, and that makes me so incredibly happy, but for the longest time I could tell that you had lost your faith and your trust in me. You tried to hide it, and you managed so well it's almost scary, but in those moments when you thought I wasn't looking, I'd see the hurt and the pain that you secreted away."

"I was wrong to have blamed you at all. I know that now. You would die before you let anyone hurt me, Dad, and I know that too, but you can't protect me from everything. It's not your job to protect me from the world. It's your job to be my dad, to support me, to encourage me, to teach me how to protect myself so that I can be ready to face the world when the time comes, and you've done all of that spectacularly." she was close to tears, her throat tightening as she fought them back.

"I need to do things for myself, Dad. I need to make my own mistakes, otherwise I can't learn from them. I like James and I know now that you don't, but I can't take your word for it. I can't reconcile the version of the man you've given me with the man I've met. I just can't. Maybe he is just using me, he wouldn't be the first man to do so, and maybe he isn't as good as I've painted him to be, but those are things I need to discover first hand. I'm not going to throw away what could be something great on hearsay. Have you ever even met him, or are you just taking someone else's word for it that he's a deranged madman?"

"I haven't met him, but I don't need to, Aria. Mycroft, Sherlock, and John have all dealt with him, and I trust their judgements. If they say he's bad news, then he is."

"I never knew you could be so naive, Dad. I refuse to judge another person based on what someone else tells me about them, and you are the one that taught me that. How would you feel if someone that had never met me started telling people that I was damaged and insane, or that I was a prostitute, and everyone took them at their word without bothering to hear my side? It's nothing more than gossip."

"He's killed people, Aria. That's all I need to know."

"So have I! My hands will never come clean. Does that mean I'm not a good person? Does that make me evil?"

"You're different and you know it."

"Why? Because I'm your daughter? That's hardly fair to everyone else."

"Jim Moriarty is a cold-blooded killer, he kills because he enjoys it. You were just doing your job."

"That doesn't mean I'm any better. Murder is murder, Dad. Intention doesn't matter. In the end, someone's blood is staining the ground."

"You're not getting it, Aria. He's murdered innocent people. He's caused the deaths of dozens that we know of!"

"People die! It happens. Sometimes it's tragic and awful, and sometimes it's peaceful and expected, but everyone dies, Dad. I can't hate him for killing some of them, when I've done my share of it. I'm a lot of things, but I'm not a hypocrite."

"You're really not going to back down from this, are you?" Her father said, sounding almost defeated. She shook her head slightly.

"Everyone deserves a chance to be better than what they are, and I'm willing to be the one to give James that. I'm not asking you to like it, or even to accept it. I'm just asking that you don't try to stop me." Aria said softly.

"If he hurts you, I will kill him with my bare hands. Then I will all too happily point out how right I was." He replied grudgingly.

"That's a bit vindictive of you." She quipped.

"What can I say? You've always been a decent kid and I never got the chance to be right about anything before." He shrugged.

Aria nodded and looked at him with concern and apprehension. "So, are we good? Can I go pass out now?"

"Yeah. We're good, for now. Go get some sleep. I'm gonna call Myc and the boys and let them know you're home." He watched as she moved towards her room once more, calling out as she opened the door. "And Aria?"

"Yeah?"

"From now on, let me know when you're going to be out all weekend attacking people and getting the shit beat out of you; makes it easier to know if I need to check the hospitals or the precincts."

"Sure thing, Dad. I do hate to worry you." She smirked and entered her room, closing the door behind her. She toed off her shoes and socks and stripped off her jeans before pulling back her blanket and climbing into bed. She lay there for several long minutes; her morning replaying in her head.

She had gotten to see Sebastian, and that made her happier than she had been in ages. Plus, she got the added bonus of his cooking which she had missed dearly. Her father had informed her that the man she had been seeing (though she wasn't sure if what they had really classified as a relationship) was a psychotic criminal mastermind, not that she was ready to believe it. Then there was the issue of the Irishman himself that she couldn't quite get her head around.

He seemed nice enough, but there were moments when she saw something horribly dark inside him and it scared her. His mood shifted as often as hers, and what was with the domination thing? She had taken orders in the army because that's how things worked. Without a clear chain of command it would all fall to hell. She always thought that, once she had left the army behind, she wouldn't put herself in such a position again, but that's exactly what had happened. She was wary of the situation, unsure of just how far he was going to go in the role of dominant. She had never seen herself as a submissive person, and yet she was intrigued, curious as to how far she could let him go.

Then there were his kisses; brief instances over the span of four months that left her breathless and wanting more. He had kissed her three times and each one had been vastly different than the others. The first one had been sweet and somewhat timid; almost like he hadn't been sure of what he was doing. The second had been gentle, reassuring her that what she was experiencing had been real. The third kiss had been almost animalistic, possessive and passionate, sweltering in its intensity. Her lips tingled as she recalled their last kiss, and the heat that had filled her before returned.

Wrapped in his shirt and his scent Aria closed her eyes and willed her mind to shut off. It wasn't a difficult task. She was still very much mentally and physically exhausted. Within moments she was sound asleep and for the first time in weeks she didn't dream.

X-X-X-X-X

When Aria awoke again, the sun had begun to set and the sky outside her window was tinged with warm oranges and pinks. Her limbs felt weak, numb and boneless, and for a moment she had no idea what had woken her from her deliciously dreamless sleep.

'Ding'

Her mobile alerted her from across the room. Groggy and graceless, she struggled to get out of bed. Her leg became tangled in the sheets and she fell to floor with a solid 'thud' and a muffle 'umph.' She groaned but didn't move. Why the hell was she so warm? Her mobile dinged again. With great difficulty, she crawled across the floor dragging her sheet behind her, and retrieved her mobile from the pocket of the jeans she had been wearing. She hadn't checked her phone since her text to James two days prior. She unlocked the device and balked at the number of missed calls and texts she had.

24 Missed Calls

9 Voice Messages

43 Text Messages

Her father hadn't been lying when he said he had tried to get ahold of her. She cleared out the missed calls, noticing that the last one had been from moments before and wondered if that was what had roused her. It was from Sebastian. She smiled and rolled her eyes, and decided to call him back when she could form a coherent thought. She went through her voice messages, feeling increasingly guilty as her father's voice became progressively more distraught and frantic, and then turned to unbridled anger in the last two.

Most of the texts were from her father, a few from Mycroft, John, and even Sherlock, asking where she was and if she was alright. She choked on a laugh as she read through the ones from Sherlock. It appeared as though he had forgotten why he was texting her, and had skipped from 'Dead or alive?-SH' to 'I'm bored. Where can I get a small goat? – SH.' She was fairly sure she didn't want to know why exactly he needed a small goat.

The most recent messages were from James and Sebastian. She glanced through Sebastian's text, touched by his concern.

'Hope you made it home alright. Let me know. – SM'

'Seriously, Ari, you alright? – SM'

'Walked towards your place. Didn't see you lying in a gutter, so I'm guessing you made it. Text me when you can. – SM'

She giggled and shot him a quick text.

"I'm fine. Had a bit of a row with dad, but it's alright now. Sort of. Fell asleep. Don't be mad. Xo – AL'

James' texts held a different tone, though she guessed that could have been due to a simple lack of context that arose from texting.

'Mr. Holmes has contacted me. I'm sure by now you know who I am. You'd be an idiot to ignore them. – J'

'Pity. I was having such fun. – J'

She thought for a moment before replying.

'You're probably right, but I seem to have developed a habit of not doing as I'm told. Dad said some pretty harsh things about you. I'm not sure I believe them. – AL'

She didn't have to wait long for a reply.

'That's a bad habit to keep. We can fix it. Still, I'm sure everything he said was true. – J'

Aria wasn't entire sure why, but she wanted to see him try. 'Don't make promises you can't keep, and I'm not so sure about that. You don't seem like the mass-murdering-evil-overlord type to me. – AL'

'Perhaps you're not looking close enough, pet. – J'

'And I always keep my promises. – J'

A chill ran through her as she thought about his words. He was admitting to it all, or at least he wasn't denying any of it. Was that really who he was? She still had trouble reconciling the two pictures she had of him in her mind. She supposed she would continue to have that problem until he proved one or the other to be right.

'I look forward to finding that out for myself. – AL'

'And I'm not your pet! – AL'

'It was never up for debate, pet, but I do look forward to showing you. – J'

Aria huffed, locking her phone and tossing it in the direction of her bed. Now fully awake, she untangled herself from her bed linens and stood up, stretching her arms overhead and wincing as her shoulder protested. She slipped on a pair of loose flannel trousers and ventured out into the main living space. Her father was asleep on the sofa, though he had showered, shaved, and changed into pajamas. The telly was on with the volume down the glow of it casting an eerie light about the flat.

She grabbed the throw blanket from the back of the sofa and draped it over him, pressing a kiss to his cheek and whisper 'goodnight' in his ear. As quietly as she could, Aria made her way to the kitchen and searched through the cabinets and the fridge for something to eat.


	14. Stick to Your Guns

Aria awoke the following day to the sounds of football and her father loudly commentating from the sofa. She glanced at her mobile, and was shocked to find that it was almost two in the afternoon. She groaned as she untangled her limbs from the cocoon of sheets she had swaddled herself in during the chilled early morning hours. Her muscles were stiff and sore and her shoulder throbbed as she attempted to stretch. Feeling much older than she would have liked; Aria rose from the comfort of her bed and trudged towards the bathroom.

She ignored the blurred reflection in the mirror as she passed by. She didn't need to know that she looked like hell. She turned on the shower, and the room slowly filled with steam as she stripped off her pajamas. For a brief moment she held the worn grey shirt she had slept in to her nose and sniffed. It still smelled like him; warm, earthy musk mingled with something she couldn't quite place and filled her with feeling she wasn't quite ready to evaluate. She stepped beneath the spray and allowed her body to relax. She rolled her shoulder in an effort to loosen the knot she knew was building around the injured joint. She had dislocated the same shoulder before and knew it would take days, possibly even weeks to heal completely.

As she scrubbed her hair and body she allowed her mind to wander over the events of the previous week. In less than seven days, she had been stalked, had a disastrous lunch date with a man that may or may not be a psychotic criminal, almost fallen to her death, been reunited with a man that was her brother in all but blood, had been beaten, kissed, and threatened by the one man she seemed to have no power against, rowed with her father, and then defended said possible madman to her father. It wasn't really a wonder she was feeling a bit out of sorts. It didn't really help that she had missed at least three days of medication.

Aria climbed out of the shower and toweled off as she made her way back into her bedroom. She decided as she was running her fingers through her thick, damp curls that it was time for a long overdue haircut. She dressed quickly in worn, ripped jeans, a snug violet jumper, and her black Doc Martens. She pulled her hair into a loose bun, grabbed her mobile and her wallet, and heading out into the parlor.

Her father was sat on the sofa dressed in slacks, black dress socks, and a light blue button down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His black oxfords had been tossed off to the side of the sofa and his black suit jacket was lying over the back of it. He looked up at her as she entered the room.

"About time. I was starting to think I might have to toss you into the shower again. How ya feeling?" he asked as he took a bite of fish. A half-eaten order of her favorite fish and chips sat before him and beside it was an untouched order the he slid in her direction across the coffee table. She took a seat beside him, trying to hide the grimace the action caused.

"I've been worse. Been better too, but definitely a lot worse. I'll be fine in a few days." She picked up a chip and shoved it into her mouth.

"I'd say I feel bad for you, because as your dad I think that's what I'm supposed to do, but I really don't. You did this to yourself, love, and I'm really not sure if I should be yelling at you for being a reckless idiot, or about the fact that you think trying to save a man like Moriarty is worth risking your life and the lives of everyone that loves you."

"So, you're still upset?"

"You're damn right I'm still upset. I haven't even told Mycroft about it. I'm tempted not to, but he'll find out in the end, and I'm not going to be the one that lies to him. Lies ruin relationships. Something you should think long and hard about, mind."

"Are you ever not going to be upset?" she asked as she took a nibble of her fish.

"About you almost getting yourself killed? I imagine I'll get over that pretty quick. It's a habit this dysfunctional family of ours has."

"I was talking about James."

"In that case, I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you. I've started smoking again and I don't think I have the lung capacity to resuscitate you when you asphyxiate." He had turned back to the telly refusing to look in her direction.

Aria huffed as she took another bite of fish. She knew that she was doing the right thing in giving James a chance, and she had always been the person to do the right thing, but was it worth risking the relationship she had with her father? She had worked so hard at building it back up after she returned home and had her breakdown. If she was honest with herself, she was terrified at the idea of a life without her father in it. He was her rock, he kept her grounded, and had no problem telling her the truth even if it might hurt her.

"Dad…"

"Yeah?" He still wasn't looking at her.

She watched him for a moment without saying anything. The words were there on the tip of her tongue ready to spill over her lips in a tidal wave of remorse and uncertainty. She wanted so badly to tell him in that moment that he was right, that she was just being stupid and that she would never see James Moriarty again so long as it meant that he wasn't upset with her.

For an instant, the unspoken eternal guarantee of his love was called into question and Aria had to wonder, should he be right and something bad did happen at James' behest, if he would stop loving her. The very thought of losing the one constant in her life, the one person that actually gave a damn about her and loved her for who she was and not who she had the potential to kill, tore through her like a dull knife, shredding her heart and soul and leaving her to bleed out on the floor. As her tenuous grip on her self-control waned and her eyes began to prickle with unshed tears, a memory from her childhood floated through her mind.

"Why must you always cause trouble? What is wrong with you, starting fights on the first day of classes? How did I get stuck with such a wretched thing for a child?" her mother had growled as she slammed the car door shut. She had been called from work to pick up her delinquent daughter from school for attacking another child. She had begged the headmaster to call her father instead, but her mother had been listed first in her paperwork and such things had to be followed. "I don't even know what to do with you at this point, Aria."

"I said I was sorry." Aria heard her eight year-old self say. She could still feel the fear as it rolled through her.

"You're sorry? Aria, you broke that boy's nose! You should be thankful his parents aren't pressing assault charges. Maybe if they had your father would have bothered to show up for once."

"I asked them to call dad, but they wouldn't. And Adrian Thompson deserved what he got!" Aria crossed her arms and stared out the window.

"Well it's a good thing they didn't. I don't want to think about what people would say if they saw him carting you off in a squad car because he's too stupid to bring his own. Not to mention what they would say if he showed up in that outfit." She had scoffed. Aria never understood why her mum hated her father's uniform. She thought it made him look handsome and brave.

"Daddy's a police officer. He doesn't get to choose what he gets to wear. Besides, I love riding in the squad car."

"Aria, be quiet."

"Why?"

"Because you're giving me a migraine."

They had gone the rest of the way home in silence. Once there, Aria had trudged up the stairs to her room, her satchel dragging on the ground behind her. She had spent the remainder of her day thinking about what her father would say when he got home that night. She had gotten so upset over it that she had made herself physically ill. By the time he had come home, she was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open.

He had knocked softly on the door before entering her room. He was still dressed in his uniform, minus his hat and his shoes. He had looked at her with such concern that it made her want to cry. He sat on the edge of her bed and tucked in her blankets around her as he spoke.

"Your mum told me what happened."

"Are you mad, too?"

"Why'd you do it, Ari? I know you, sweetheart. You're not the kind to start a fight for nothing."

"I asked him to stop and he wouldn't."

"Stop what, love?"

"He was being mean to Mimi. He called her names and then he shoved her. I asked him to leave her alone. I said please and everything, daddy, but he wouldn't stop. I tried to pull her away from him, but he shoved me and he knocked me down. He started laughing and I just got mad. I didn't mean to hurt him, but he was being mean to Mimi and it wasn't right."

He was silent for a minute before ruffling her short curls and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "You stood up for what you knew was right and that's never a bad thing, Aria."

"So, you're not mad?"

"No. I'm proud of you. Always stand up for what you believe, love, even when others try to push you down. No matter what always fight for what's right. It won't always be easy, but you're strong, and you're brave, and you are so much better than everyone that tells you otherwise." He smiled at her and his face lit up with pride. Aria had smiled and hugged him as tight as she could. He had tucked her back into bed and whispered good-night.

"Aria? Something wrong?" He was looking at her now, the same look of concern etched onto his face. It was eerily similar to her memory, the only difference being that now he had a few more crow's feet, a few more laugh lines, and a lot more grey hairs. She shook her head shoving away the overwhelming grief she had felt a moment before.

"I'm not sorry," she said.

"What?"

"I'm not sorry. I was going to apologize, to give in and do exactly what you want me to do, to never see him again, to give up, but I can't." She replied in earnest.

"Why not? Why would it be so bad to leave the psychotic murderer alone?" he quipped.

"Because you told me not to."

"What?"

"When I was eight, when I punched Adrian Thompson in the face and broke his nose," his eyes widened a fraction and she knew he remembered it as well. "You told me never to give up on what I believe in, no matter who or what tries to make me give up, and I've lived by that rule ever since. I'm not going to stop now. Not after everything I've done and everything I've been through. Not for you, or for Mycroft, or for Sherlock and John. Not for anyone."

"Aria…"

"No, Dad. It's my turn to talk." She stood up, her fish and chips forgotten. Rage was boiling inside of her now and she felt like a volcano about to erupt. "I don't give a damn what he has done. No one in this family is innocent, and not a damn one of us hasn't got someone's blood on their hands. It isn't right that you think you can decide who gets a second chance. It's not your decision who is or isn't worthy of my attention, or of my forgiveness. Be angry, be upset, be disappointed, hell you can even toss me to the curb and forget you love me if that's what you like, but I'm not going to give up on him.

"You can't just raise me to be some paladin of the righteous and then demand I change just because you think something isn't worth my time. He's a human being, for Christ's sake, and he deserves the same chance as anyone else. You don't even know anything about him, about his past, about what made him into the person he is, but you don't care. He hurt someone close to you and that's all that matters, that one event makes him the devil in your eyes and that's enough for you, but it's not enough for me.

"One mistake, or a million, doesn't make someone evil, Dad. It makes them human. It makes them wrong, and it makes the world hate them, but it does not make them evil incarnate. I refuse to believe that there isn't some good in him, that he doesn't have the capacity to be better than what the world, or even himself, expects him to be. He just needs someone to show him that he has that choice."

The flat was silent for a long time following her tirade. Her father sat staring at her, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he struggled to form an argument in his head. After what felt like an eternity, he stood up and moved around the coffee table to stand in front of her. He stared down at her, his hands resting on her shoulders gently as he looked into her eyes. He took a deep breath before he spoke.

"Why do you always listen to me? I never understood why you always looked up to me and followed me so closely." He muttered.

"Because you're my dad. You're good and your right and you fight for those that can't fight for themselves, but you never fight for yourself. You were never some majestic king to me. You were never some untouchable deity that I could only hope to aspire to be like. You were the selfless knight that would give his life if it meant that someone else wouldn't have to. You were…are my hero. You always have been."

He pulled her into a tight hug, his chin resting atop her head as she pressed her cheek against his chest.

"I'm still not alright with this, Aria, but that doesn't mean I'm not still your father. I will always be your father, and no matter what I will always be here for you. I'm still convinced that you're going to scale this mountain just for him to shove you off a cliff, but I'll be right there at the bottom to catch you when he does, and then he's mine." His tone offered no room for rebuke and she couldn't think of one to give.

"You still love me?" her voice was small.

"Always."

A sharp cough startled them both and Aria jumped. Mycroft stood a few feet away, a curious look on his face as he took in the scene. He was leaning on his umbrella, his coat and gloves still on, which meant to her that he would not be staying and that he hadn't dropped by for a social call.

"Hello, Mycroft. Please, come in." She smirked. His lip curled up at the corner for a brief second and his head cocked slightly to the right.

"What's the matter, Mycroft?" Her father asked, sensing that something was wrong when the man ignored her jab.

"There's been an accident." Mycroft's voice was grave as his expression grew serious.


	15. Setbacks

Aria couldn't breathe. She could barely form a coherent thought. She felt the weight of the world pressing in on her from all sides as she fell to the floor. There was no way. It just wasn't possible. How the hell could something like this happen, and why the hell did it always have to happen to her? Her heart pounded in her ears as her vision began to swim.

"Aria!"

She could hear someone calling her name, but it was muffled and distant, almost like a dream.

"Aria, look at me." A hand was beneath her chin, raising her head up. His dark chocolate eyes were filled with worry and tinged with rage; his jaw was clenched as he battled with his temper. His hand moved from her chin to rest on her shoulder.

"How…" was the only word she could manage, and her voice cracked as she gasped it out. She glanced over his shoulder to meet Mycroft's gaze and was shocked to find that his usually cold blue eyes shone with regret. For a moment, the stoic British official's composure slipped and Aria could see the man that lay beneath. It would seem he was human after all.

"I'm sorry, Aria. He had help from the inside. The individual in question has been dealt with, I assure you." His tone implied that 'dealt with' was Mycroft's polite way of saying that the person's body would never be found. It did little to assuage the fear that was coursing through her, but she knew that it was the only comfort he could provide her with. She nodded.

McGaffick was free, and she knew he would come after her. Mycroft had kept her in the dark about his plans for her former commanding officer, and until now she hadn't cared to know. Now, with the knowledge that the power hungry lunatic was in London and on the loose, Aria found herself wishing she had demanded some type of information regarding his movements.

He was a dangerous man, and she knew Mycroft had been very clear to him on why he had been pulled from duty, stripped of his rank, and placed in a cell. Not only had the man shackled her, tortured her, and allowed others to do the same, but he had also made the idiotic mistake of signing the elder Holmes' signature to countless documents over the years; thus marring his name and his reputation. He had made Mycroft into a fool and that simply was not acceptable.

"How long…how long have you held him?" She asked quietly, her eyes never leaving his.

"It's not import-"

"How long!?" She yelled.

"Six months."

"Six- and you never bothered to mention it? I'm sure you've told him why, too. Why not just give him my address and a copy of my daily schedule? Maybe toss in a gun and a bullet with my bloody name on it!" She lurched to her feet and made to step towards him, but was stopped by her father.

"I assure you, my dear, that he will be found and dealt with quickly. I have men scouring the city for him as we speak."

"I don't want your damned assurance, Mycroft Holmes! What I want is to put a gun to that monster's head and pull the sodding trigger! I want his body at my feet! I want to watch as that insane light leaves his eyes and his blood pools on the ground!"

"Aria, you need to calm down, love," her father said sternly, his arm around her waist as he struggled to hold her back.

"Calm down? There is a madman out to kill me, and don't try to tell me he's not. He'll blame me for all of it. He won't even bat an eye at putting a bullet in all of you just to watch me suffer. He is relentless and he is psychotic. You think James is a horrible person, but you have never met Marik McGaffick. I have seen him do horrible, awful things, things that would make a grown man cry, with a grin on his face." She tried to calm her breathing knowing she was dangerously close to passing out.

He would come after her of that she was certain. She couldn't risk him hurting her father, or Mycroft, John, Sherlock, and anyone else he might think was close to her. She would never be able to live with herself if he did. She had to get to him first. It was the only way to ensure the safety of the people she cared about.

"I-I have find him. I have to stop him." She shook her head to clear it as she moved towards her room to grab her sidearm. Legally, she wasn't even allowed to keep it, but what no one knew couldn't hurt them.

"Aria, wait," Her father grabbed her arm and spun her back around. "Sweetheart, don't do this. You don't have to go after him. Mycroft's got men on it, and I'll have an APB put out to every precinct, airport, and train station in the country. He won't get far."

"Dad, he doesn't want to get far. He wants to get to me. I can't let him hurt you, any of you. I have to do this." She tugged against his grip, but his hand held firm.

"No. You don't have to do this alone, love. It's not your responsibility to stop him."

"But-"

"Damn it, Aria! Listen to me, please. You're not in this alone, not anymore. If he is after you, then you're an idiot for running at him. You'd be giving him exactly what he wants, and I will not let you do that. I will not lose you." The fear that radiated from him astonished her. She had never seen her father scared of anything before, and it hit her like a punch to the stomach. She bit her lip as she thought through her options.

She could go after him, risk getting killed in the process, and leave him to do as he wished to her family, or she could let the police and whatever men Mycroft had at his disposal deal with the problem; leaving her to wonder if and when he would appear, ready to do them all in for kicks. The latter was the wisest, yes, but it left a lot more room for error than she was comfortable with. The first was reckless and selfish, but had the potential to be very satisfying should she be successful. With a growl and a shake of her head, she decided that her father was more important.

"Fine. I'll leave him to you," she said as she glared at Mycroft, "with one condition."

"And that would be?"

"If you capture him, you take him in alive. You find me, you take me to him, and you let me put a bullet through his fucked up brain." She never expected for the man to smile.

"I'm certain we can let you in to see him. If the guards fail to check you, or happen to miss a weapon you have cleverly hidden on your person, well then…"

Aria nodded, a dark smile spreading across her face as her eyes glinted with hunger. She caught the odd look her father and Mycroft shared, and she knew they were concerned for her mental well-being, but honestly she felt fine. Her mind was clear and, for the moment, calm. With a final nod, Mycroft left the flat, his mobile to his ear as he barked out orders to whoever was unfortunate enough to be on the other end.

Aria took a moment to gather herself and calm down. She knew it would only be a matter of time before McGaffick showed up on her stoop, and likely with a knife to her throat and that sick grin on his face. She had promised her father that she wouldn't go hunting after him, but that didn't mean she wouldn't be ready for him when he came hunting for her. Marik McGaffick had ruined her life once before, and she would be damned if she ever let him do the same thing again.

In that moment, Aria made a promise to herself. She would go about her life as she had been, going to classes, enjoying walks through the park, shopping, and just living her life. She refused to hide, to secret herself away in fear and pray that he never found her. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of ruining her life a second time. With that in mind, Aria turned to look at her father with a smile on her lips that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"I'm going out. Want to come with?" She inquired.

"I'd prefer it if you stayed in, Aria. I don't want you out there with that madman on the loose."

"Dad, I can take care of myself. We've already been over that. Besides, I'm not going to just sit around and wait for him to show up. I have given enough of my life to fear of that man, and I won't do it anymore."

He sighed heavily as he put his shoes on. He seemed to be mulling something over in his mind as he stood up and slipped on his suit jacket. He looked at her and shook his head. "Fine, but don't go alone, yeah? Call John or Sherlock or someone, and ask them to go with you. I'm sure they wouldn't mind. Or, if you'd rather I can have an officer tag along in plain clothes."

Aria smiled. She had the perfect person in mind for the job. "Agreed, but no officers, yeah?"

They shared a brief hug before he walked out of the flat and headed back to work. She pulled out her mobile, scrolled through her contacts until she found the one she was after, and hit the call button. It rang twice before the other line picked up.

"Yeah?"

"Get dressed. We're going out."

"What?"

"Just do it and come pick me up."

"Bossy."

"Arse."

She ended the call and went back to her room. She thought about slipping her gun into the waistband on her jeans, but decided against it. It wasn't the lightest or most inconspicuous thing in the world. She opted instead for two black six-inch custom kunai that she strapped to the outside of either boot and covered with her pant legs. She was just straightening her jeans back when a knock sounded on the entry door. She retrieved her pistol, a customized Colt Compact OMR and checked the clip before unlocking the safety and cocking it. Cautiously she made her way down the hall her footfalls near silent on the hardwood. She peaked through the small porthole and sighed before opening the door and dragging the person on the other side through.

"Christ, Aria! What the hell is wrong with you?" he said as took notice of the gun in her hand. She threw her arms around his shoulders in a tight hug. He was dressed in well-fitting jeans that seemed a bit too snug around his backside, his worn combat boots, and a plain dark green tee that clearly showed off his well-defined muscles. A pair of Oakley's hung from the collar of his shirt and his shaggy blond hair had been purposefully mused. Aria had said it before and she would say it again: her big 'brother' was a whore.

"Something's happened, Seb."

"What is it?" He asked as another knock sounded. He raised a brow as she swallowed harshly and motioned for him to remain silent. She looked back through the porthole and growled. Without a word she wrenched the door open, grabbed the person on the other side, and jerked them into the foyer.

"Hello to you too, pet." Aria resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she took in the man before her. Gone were the jeans and worn out tee. He was dressed impeccably in khaki slacks, dark brown Oxfords, a light pink button-down, and a khaki waistcoat. He wore a short dark brown trench coat and his black leather gloves. His hair was perfectly slicked back and a pair of aviators hid a large portion of his face.

"James, what are you doing here?"

"Sebastian mentioned you were going out. I was bored, so I figured I'd join you."

"Uh-huh," She was certain there was more to it than that, but she kept her thoughts to herself. She turned her attention back to Sebastian.

"As I was saying," she cut her eyes back at James for a second before shaking her head, "something bad has happened. Apparently Mycroft decided McGaffick was too much of a risk to be allowed to remain free. He's had him locked up somewhere for the past six months."

"That's not really a bad thing, Aria. McGaffick is unstable."

"You're right. Except that McGaffick broke out. Now, he's out there somewhere, and I'm pretty sure he wants my blood decorating the walls."

"Then we need to find him, and put an end to him before he gets the chance to try." He said as though they were talking about the weather.

"No! I promised dad I wouldn't seek him out, and I keep my promises. I'm not going to risk it." She said.

"Then why did you call me?" Sebastian asked, confused.

"Like I said, we're going out. I told dad I wouldn't go out alone, so you are going with me." She grinned, bouncing a bit like an excited toddler as she reset the safety on her gun. She made quick work of returning her pistol to its hiding place in her room and returned to the foyer.

"Alright…where exactly are we going?" He seemed genuinely afraid now. Aria glanced at her watch.

"First, I'm getting my hair cut. You could stand to do the same, you know. Then, we grab lunch and do a bit of shopping. Sherlock's birthday is coming up and I need to find him something. Preferably something he won't toss over his shoulder and say 'boring' or 'useless' about." She grabbed his arm and James' hand and pulled them towards the door. She snatched her keys from the dish and locked the door behind them before ushering the men out of the building and into the blistering January weather.


End file.
